
Book M^J Ai> 

1903 
GoipghtN" 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



ALONG THE WAY 
WITH PEN AND PENCIL 



ALONG THE WAY 

WITH PEN AND PENCIL 



BY 



CARRIE MUNSON HOOPLE 




THE GRAFTON PRESS 
NEW YORK MCMIX 



^s^^-^ 


^.'1^' 


' \«\t>'\ 



Copyright 1909 by 
THE GRAFTON PRESS 



©Ci.A252982 



TO 

MY CHILDREN 



CONTENTS 

Along the Way page 

A Common Dish 3 

No Respects 5 

At the Feast 7 

My Girl 8 

The Notice Column 9 

The Old Cradle 11 

The World Owes Me a Living 14 

Cherry Stones 17 

A Whole Soul 18 

Do You Know Her? 20 

The Baby's Name 21 

Spring 22 

The Weeds of Cobourg 24 

The Canadian Voyageurs 25 

The Old Kirk 26 

A Photograph 27 

The Old Corner Cupboard 28 

Across the Way 29 

My Window Box 31 

An Attic Treasure 32 

The Post Box 34 

Mystery 35 

A Ship a Sailing 37 

The Time to Hold Your Tongue 38 

Our Fellow Man 39 

A Name 40 



Table of Contents 

PAGE 

Old Songs 41 

In Ten Minutes 42 

At Camp 43 

The Corduroy Road 44 

A Bequest 45 

Belated 46 

The Captain 47 

Little Ships 48 

The Manitoba Farmer • 49 

At Danville 50 

Wings 51 

The Deserted Farm 53 

Napoleon 54 

A Portrait 55 

Canterbury 56 

The Mill 58 

Olde Plymouth Towne 60 

Flatbush Gardens 63 

Fort Marion Gate 64 

Robert L. Stevenson at Baker Cottage 66 

The Lights of Saranac 68 

The Roofs of Saranac 69 

Beyond 70 

Pre Existence 73 

Perfection 74 

The Half Way House 75 

A Journey 76 

A Bunch of Flowers 77 

This World and That 78 



Table of Contents vii 

PAGE 

Why 79 

Riches 80 

Some New Thing 81 

Music • • • 83 

You and Death 84 

Not Where to Lay His Head 85 

My Friend 86 

A Heavenly Touch 87 

The Wireless Word 88 

The World is Small 89 

A Song of Now 90 

Waves 91 

To an Egyptian Mummy 9S 

Poor Jones 95 

The Window of Self 96 

The Key 97 

The Confessional 98 

Adrift 99 

Time Evens All 100 

Egypt 101 

Translation of the Lorelei 102 

Her Daily Bread 103 

Nature Notes 

Alone 107 

The Realist.. 108 

My Window Pane 109 

English Violets Ill 

To a Dandelion • 112 



viii Table of Contents 

PAGE 

Clover Blossoms H^ 

A Handful of Leaves 114^ 

A Bird Call 116 

A Dual Tongue 117 

A Valley 118 

Strength 119 

The Landlord 120 

A Lullaby • 121 

Missisquoi in June 122 

A Message 123 

Twilight 124 

A Dimple 125 

Power 126 

The Nereid's Dance 127 

The Maid of the Mist 129 

The Old Log Hut 130 

Light and Shade 132 

An Old New Hampshire Inn 133 

The Storm Signal. 135 

S'conset. 136 

A Fancy of Mine 137 

The Path through the Wood 138 

Flower Gossip 139 

The Dusk 141 

A Summer Night 142 

A Meadow 1^* 

Over Seas 1^6 

Reminiscence 147 



Table of Contents ix 

My Forest Queen page 

My Forest Queen. 151 

The Children's Book 

The Hole in the Fence 173 

Grimm and Gruff 175 

The Straight Line 178 

Follow Cat 179 

The Bold Rat 181 

Shinny. 182 

The Cash Girl.. 183 

Whip Behind 185 

Don't Touch. 186 

Poor Little Thing 188 

Chicks 190 

Common Things. 191 

A Picture.. - 193 

Billy 194 

Three Gifts. 195 

The Night After Christmas. 198 

Three Years Old. 199 

The Extra Handed Crab and Other Strange Things 200 

Pussy's Fate. 203 

The Country of Look-into-Things. 204 

A Little Fly 206 

Nell and Lou 208 

Little Girls 211 

A Little Man 212 

A Little Lady. • • 213 



FOREWORD 

I CANNOT sing of written things. 
Mine is not knowledge conned from books; 
How is it the bird of the meadow sings? 
What is the music we hear in brooks? 

There is a gift that is given to man. 
Given to him who looks and hears. 

He must forth tell it as well as he can, 
Just as of old did the ancient seers. 

So in small measure, whatever I find, 

Secret of nature unfolded to me. 
Treasure of happiness, visions of mind. 

Humbly I offer them all up to thee. 



ALONG THE WAY 



Along the Way 



A COMMON DISH. 

J f I lis of a very common dish^ 

A A well known one, I'd sing, 
The same mito the pauper 

As it is unto the king; 
Known throughout the ages. 

Since first the world began. 
Food for modern people. 

And for pre-historic man. 
I fancy at creation. 

That the pot was set to boil. 
Ever-giving, ever filling. 

Like the widow's cruse of oil. 
The elements within it. 

Are made up, I opine. 
Of a nature part Satanic 

And a nature part Divine. 
Stirred by Fate, or Chance, or Fortune, 

Or whatever we may call 
That unknown mysterious power 

Which doth ladle it to all. 
For a share of it is given 

At the moment of his birth. 
Spiced with hereditary flavoring 

To each soul upon the earth. 



Along the Way 

But alas ! Sometimes the atoms 

Not being mixed so very fine, 
Some get more of the Satanic 

Than they get of the Divine. 
'Tis called "Human Nature/' 

The dish of which I sing, 
The same unto the pauper 

As it is unto the king. 



Along the Way 



"NO RESPECTS." 

SHE was the little serving maid 
And he the grocer's man, 
I really couldn't tell you 
Just how it all began. 

It wasn't for her beauty 

That he loved her, I am sure 

For I never saw a maiden 

Quite as plain as Ann McClure. 

Nor it wasn't for her neatness 
Nor her brilliant shining tins, 

For that maid's untidy habits 
Were among her greatest sins. 

Nor it wasn't for her smartnesa 
For she was as slow as time 

If we ordered lunch for twelve, 

We were called as two would chime. 

She was, to word it mildly. 

Just a bundle of defects. 
But you know as Shakespeare puts it, 

"Love knows no respects." 



Along the Way 

I often used to wonder. 

What in Ann he saw to like; 

But I wondered still more often 
What on earth she saw in Mike. 

Of all the homely Jehus 

That drive a butcher's cart, 

The homeliest was Mike Gilroy, 
Who won our Annie's heart. 

His hair stood up in bristles, 
One eye looked up, one down. 

His complexion like the roadway. 
On a mudd}^ day downtown. 

And he had a sort of general 

Melancholy air 
That gave him the most horrible 

Expression of despair. 

But the men that women marry 

Are not what one expects. 
For you know, as Shakespeare puts it, 

"Love knows no respects." 



Along the Way 



AT THE FEAST. 



THE guests are come, the feast is spread, 
Gay revelry doth claim the hour ; 
Soft lights around their lustre shed 

And music wields its magic power. 
But seemeth it at second glance 

The merriment appeareth forced, 
Though loudty rings the laugh perchance 

And brightest are the strains discoursed. 
Who is the chosen guest tonight — 

The one for whom the feast is made.'' 
Behold him there so rich bedight! 

What deference to him is paid! 
Behold him in the honored place ! 

But, do you mark how still he sits } 
No muscle changes in his face. 

No answering smile across it flits 
How fixed his eye! He wears a mask.^ 

Earth's revelry for him hath ceased. 
You know him now, no need to ask 

"The Death's Head at the Feast." 
An ancient Scythian custom this, 

Unknown to us, that way at least; 
Though still we entertain, I wis. 

Our death's heads at the feast. 



Along the Way 

MY GIRL. 

STATELY as a Calla LUy, 
Sweet as any Rose, 
Fresh as is a Daffodilly, 

In the Spring that blows. 
That is she. 
Would you know her? 

Would you see her.^ 
Would you touch her hand? 

Would you in her presence 
Like a sun-kissed rose expand? 

Then among the highways 
And the byways you must wind 

That, surely lead unto her 
Enthroned in my mind. 

And all the time I think of her 
I cannot help but feel 

That another maid will catch me 
Not a bit like my ideal. 

For I'm poor and she has money. 
And I can't afford to wait. 

But I wonder if we'll meet 
When perchance 'twill be too late. 



Along the Way 



THE NOTICE COLUMN. 

6 i jQIRTHS" and "Marriages/' 

U "Deaths" and "Amusements" — 
So read the lines from day to day, 

But who shall decipher 
The lines of living 

That all unnoticed between them play? 
There was Jim : he was born 

Like every other 
An heir to a portion of God's fair earth, 

Knocked about and beaten. 
Starved and abused. 

Almost from the day of his birth. 
'Tis a wonder he lived. 

But he did 
And thrived, and married too. 

He was sent to gaol, 
And staid for a week. 

They said he stole, but it wasn't true. 
In gaol for a week ! 

Amid the essence 
Of crime and sin from all the land. 

He went in pure. 
But he came out versed 

In many a craft of that hardened band. 



10 AlongtheWay 

He tried to get work — 

Just enough to buy bread 
To keep the breath in himself and wife, 

But work is scanty for such as he; 
"Gaol-bird" followed him all through life. 

Were it any wonder 
He'd put in practise 

What he'd learned in gaol (how to snatch a purse) ? 
Driven by man's 

Self-righteous justice 
To do that, aye, and a great deal worse ! 

Just to be born! 
Perhaps to be married! 

To be amused, and then to die. 
But who shall decipher 

The lines in the column 
That all unnoticed between them lie? 



Along the Way 11 



THE OLD CRADLE. 

THERE'S nothing grand about it. 
Just plain^ old solid^ oak. 
But it has a sort of elegance 
That somehow makes me choke. 

No muslin frills nor fancies. 

Nor fripperies of lace 
Such as Hiram's wife has dangling 

Above her baby's face. 

But 'tis decked and ornamented 
Plenty good enough for me. 

For around it like a trimming 
Hangs a fringe of memory. 

And I can't help thinking 

As I see it idling there. 
Of the busy days it used to have 

Its resting spells were rare. 

For there were a good many of us 

Rocked in it all told, 
Lil, and Sue, and Benny, 

Our soldier brave and bold. 



12 AlongtheWay 

Bess, our blue-eyed beauty. 

Then, forsooth, came I. 
And if I were as restless as I am now, 

I needed many a lullaby. 

One day I remember 

When the cradle stood quite still. 
In it like a waxen doll 

Lay little baby Bill. 

I poked him with my finger. 
And asked them "If he slept." 

Mother moaned, "He's gone to heaven.' 
Then I asked her why she wept. 

For I said, "You always told us 
Heaven was a lovely place." 

She smiled a sort of dreary smile 
And tried to dry her face. 

And I could not help thinking 

Young as I was then. 
That folks tell tales to little boys. 

They might not teU to men. 

Another time I think of. 

When the last babe came along. 

Mother sent me in to rock it. 
And soothe it with a song. 



AlongtheWay 13 

I had set my heart on fishing, 

My "Chum" was at the door, 
And my too eager efforts, 

Rocked the baby on the floor. 

Oh dear ! The tender memories 

About that oaken thing! 
All the sweet, wild dreams of childhood. 

Drawn about it like a string 

Of pearls, that broke and scattered 
When the world's enlightening beams 

Showed me knowledge for my visions. 
Gave me facts instead of dreams. 



14 AlongtheWay 



THE WORLD OWES ME A LIVING. 

THE world owes me a living," 
The poor man said. 
"It owes me at least 

My daily bread. 
And I would not object 

To some butter too. 
Why should the many 

Have less than the few.^" 
The demagogue smiled 

As he heard him speak. 
And started a strike 

That very week. 
For the demagogue 

Lives on the poor man's gains, 
While the poor mans family 

Starves for his pains. 
And the wise old world 

Jogs round the sun 
Paying attention 

To neither one. 
Doing the work 

It is meant to do. 
But there's something wrong somewhere 

I think, don't you? 



AlongtheWay 15 

"The world owes me a living," 

The rich man said. 
**It owes me more 

Than my daily bread. 
It owes me of life 

"The sugar and spice," 
And, as the rhyme says, 

"All things nice." 
For why should any 

Have more than I.'' 
To beat them all 

I'm going to try." 
The demagogue smiled 

As he heard him speak 
And went on with the strike 

He started that week. 
While the wise old world 

Jogged round the sun 
Paying attention 

To neither one. 
Doing the work 

It was meant to do. 
But there's something wrong somewhere, 

I think, dont you? 

Supposing the world 

Should stop and say 
"There's another planet 

That goes my way 



16 Along the Way 

Has more circumference 

Than I, 
To take its place 

I'm going to try. 
The universe owes me 

A wider groove 
And so on my axis 

I'll cease to move." 
I wonder what 

Would the universe do.'' 
There'd be something wrong somewhere, 

I think, don't you.f* 



AlongtheWay 17 



CHERRY STONES. 

RICH man^ poor man^ beggar man, thief, 
Merchant, tailor, doctor, chief,' " 
So sang a maiden to tell her fate 
Counting the cherry stones on her plate. 
" 'Rich man, poor man,' Ah, no," she said, 
"The man must be rich whom I'm to wed — 
Must have his carriage and money a pile. 
For love in a cottage is not my style." 
Then she ran away with a young bank clerk, 
With six hundred a year, (complexion dark). 
So maidens, beware how you scorn your fate 
Counting the cherry stones on your plate. 
" 'Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. 
Merchant, tailor, doctor, chief.' " 



18 Along the Way 



A WHOLE SOUL. 

HE was a little fellow, 
Five feet and an inch or so, 
The reason he wasn't taller 

He used to tell us 
Was because he didn't grow. 

He had acquired a habit. 
Which is rather rare, forsooth, 

(At least in these days. 
Seems to have grown old-fashioned) 

Of always telling the truth. 
He hadn't much to live on. 

The best men seldom do; 
But what little that he did have 

(He wasn't stingy with the Lord) 
Was divided up in two. 

We all confided in him. 
From the old down to the young ; 

And, as you will notice 
In such cases, about himself. 

He held his tongue. 
The children used to smile at him. 

Halfway down the street. 
The very busiest people 
Had time to talk 

When they would meet. 



AlongtheWay 19 

And because he was so kindly 

And followed the Golden Rule 
They called him just "the least bit soft." 

I think an angel in our midst 
We'd likely dub a "Fool." 

Well he died^ of course, quite young, 
(Men always do like him) 

And the world goes on the same; 
But whenever his name is mentioned 

Some eye grows dim. 



20 AlongtheWay 



DO YOU KNOW HER? 

DO you know her — the girl I mean? 
She's pretty as pretty girls go. 
A great chatterbox too, 

And so aristocratic, you know. 

She never knows anyone "Common," 

By the way an unusual fate, 
Each friend and even acquaintance 

Seems related to somebody great. 

She's travelled around quite a little 
Last season was down at the sea 

There met so many "Nice people," 
Seemed so aristocratic to be. 

Mr. Jones was very attentive 

Son of Judge So and So there 
And young Mr. Smith, second cousin 

Of Sir Somebody Something, Somewhere. 

'Tis true that her grandpapa Goodenough 
Went around with a plumber's outfit 

But then, she's so aristocratic 
That doesn't matter a bit. 



Along the Way 21 

THE BABY'S NAME. 

THEY christened the baby Margaret, 
Such a grand old English name, 
So replete with associations 
Of old historic fame. 

And then they called her "Tottie/' 

Well — because she was so small. 
And such a dainty little wilful 

Bit of a human ball. 

And one whom they call Pussy, 

Will never get Winifrid 
Save in her wedding notice 

Or on her coffin lid. 

Now why in the name of justice 

And all that's common sense 
Do you give your children names 

That are only a vain pretense.'* 

If you christen the baby Helen 

Call her Helen, and not 
Birdie, Petty, Pussy, 

Dolly, Daisy, Dot. 



22 A L O N G T H E W A Y 



SPRING. 

? nniS Spring ! and all the air 

JL A dimmy dustiness holds 
That tells of beating carpets. 

Of the fire that smoulds 
In back yards ; 

Where with lengthy poles 
The hired man labors, 

While the mistress scolds. 
Sweet Spring! 

Tell me ye winged winds 

That round my pathway roar 
Do ye not know some spot 

Where mortals sweep no more.^* 
Some lone and pleasant dell, 

Some valley in the west. 
Where free from toil and stain 

The weary man may rest.^* 
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low 

And sighed for pity as it answered "No." 



Along the Way 

Tell me thou mighty deep. 

Whose billows round me play, 
Knowst thou some favored spot. 

Some island far away. 
Where weary man may find 

The house for which he sighs — 
Where stove pipe never lives 

And whitewash never flies? 
The loud waves rolling in perpetual flow 

Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer, "No. 

And thou, oh cleanest moon. 

That with such lovely face 
Dost look upon the earth 

Asleep in night's embrace — 
Tell me, in all thy round 

Hast thou not seen some spot 
Where miserable man 

May live, and houseclean not? 
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe. 

And a voice, sweet but sad, responded, "No." 



24 AlongtheWay 

THE WEEDS OF COBOURG. 

THE dusty burdock reigns supreme 
In every path^ and lane^ and road, 
While close beside with noisome mien 
There grows that weed called "Toad." 

And grasses rise not short nor few. 
And other weeds their tribute pay. 

So that a lady passing through 
Can hardly pick her way. 

Old Cobourg, once a cleanly town 

Before the cow by-law 
Is now a prey to thistle-down. 

Such weeds we never saw ! 

And while we pass the Scot Act through. 
About which all are talking. 

Why can't we have a weed act too ? 
We need it for our walking. 




u 



AlongtheWay 25 

THE CANADIAN VOYAGEURS. 

RIGHT gallantly went they, 
Five hundred strong, 
With jest and with laughter. 

With brave, manly song; 
Left father and mother. 

Left sweetheart and friend 
To succour a brave man 

Brave assistance to lend. 
Right gallantly sailed they 

O'er ocean's wild wave. 
But one of their number 

Found ocean his grave. 
Right gallantly rowed they 

'Tween Nile's sandy banks 
And in Nile's murky waters 

More joined the death ranks. 
Right gallantly went they 

How did they come back? 
With numbers diminished 

And death on their track. 
But with duty accomplished. 

And courage proved high; 
Having shown Mother England, 

For her they could die. 



26 AlongtheWay 

THE OLD KIRK. 

(At Cobourg.) 

BOARDED up its windows. 
Taken off its tower. 
Naught but graves around it — 
Graves without a flower. 

Silent are its preachers 
Darkened are its aisles; 

Gone to dust its elders 

In lonely grass-grown files. 

Moss-grown are the grave-stones 
Choked with weeds each walk. 

Broken are the railings — 
Rusted key and lock. 

Still, like a mother watching, 

When is done her long day's work, 

O'er her children's peaceful slumbers 
Stands the grey and time-worn kirk. 



AlongtheWay 27 

A PHOTOGRAPH. 

A PICTURE of my little self, 
A tiny, chubby looking elf. 

With dimpled arms and face, 
Taken when just a few years old. 
An orange in one hand I hold 

With stolid baby grace. 
Taken when life was just the day 
On which I ope'd my eyes to play 

While strength would last. 
There was no future then to me, 
I never thought what was to be, 

I had not any past. 
Ah, little self who sittest there ! 
Upon your face a solemn stare, 

Your slippered toes turned in. 
If wishing only could come true 
I'd wish that I again were you 

Just where life's paths begin. 



28 AlongtheWay 

THE OLD CORNER CUPBOARD. 

AN old corner cupboard 
Stands out in the shed. 
Gone is its beauty. 

Its glory has fled. 
Old turpentine bottles 

And much damaged delft, 
Repose in disgrace 

Side by side on the shelf. 
But e'en as I pass 

Doth a vision appear. 
For now it is spring 

And the house cleaning's here. 
A little black paint 

Into ebon wood grows. 
Brass rod, silk curtains. 

And nobody knows; 
The old corner cupboard 

Will end its career 
In the studio corner 

A swell chiffonier. 
And when all my friends 

Into ecstasies go, 
I unblushingly say, 

"Just the latest, you know." 



AlongtheWay 29 



ACROSS THE WAY. 

SHE lived at number seventeen 
And he across the way. 
They used to play together 
Throughout the live-long day. 

At early morn we'd hear him call 
"Come out, Babette, come out." 

And in a sweet high treble, 

"I'm coming, Jack," she'd shout. 

He dressed in kilts and blouses then. 

She wore pinafores. 
Their hopes were centered on such things 

As tops and battledores. 

But days go by, their ways diverge. 

No more at morn he calls. 
He has taken to wearing cricket belts. 

And she to parasols. 

Gone are his kilts and sailor suits. 

All shaven off his curls. 
The head of an "Eleven" 

Would scorn to go with girls. 



30 AlongtheWay 

But time the changer of us all 
Has oft a subtle plan 

Of turning back to baby ways 
The habits of a man. 

Again across the way Jack goes 
As in the days of yore. 

The little beaux of five years old 
Are wed at twenty-four. 

Time moves along and once again 
These two are separated. 

He wears heavenly raiment now 
And she to sorrow mated, 

In widow's garb 

Awaits the day 
When once again she'll go to him 

"Across the way." 



Along the Way 31 



MY WINDOW BOX. 

I MADE it all myself you know 
Of odds and ends of wood. 
The hammer seemed erratic 

But I did the best I could. 
And if I could not hit the nail 

As should be, on the head 
I never failed to make a hit — 

I hit my nail instead. 
This all took place last summer 

But I never shall forget 
That little window garden 

With its fragrant mignonette. 
True, there was blue Lobelia 

And crimson, blushing Phlox, 
And dainty pink gypsophela 

All in that window box. 
And though it grew last summer 

In my mind 'tis blooming yet 
That little window garden 

With its fragrant mignonette. 



32 AlongtheWay 



AN ATTIC TREASURE. 

^ Ty^ID the treasures of an attic 
lyi. Broken things and new 

Things that once have had their day 
And things that wouldn't do. 

Here an army of half-worn boots 

Saved up for the poor. 
There a limp old darky doll 

That someone loved, I'm sure. 

Camping-out utensils 

Put by until the spring. 
Trunks with broken hinges 

And many another thing 

That the careful housewife treasures. 

Thinking 'twere a sin 
To throw away what some day 

"Might just happen to come in." 

Stands a small velocipede 

As whole as when 'twas new. 

Perfect is the saddle 

And the wheels are sound and true. 



AlongtheWay 33 

But the children when they're playing 

Never take it from its place; 
It is sacred to the memory 

Of a little missing face. 

And the mother when she's searching 

Perchance for something near 
Lets fall upon the senseless thing 

A mother's saddened tear. 



34 AlongtheWay 

THE POST BOX. 

TIP, tap, there goes the lap. 
Another letter, I'll just peep in. 
I take, and I take, but I never give back, 

Tick, tack, tickety, tack. 
This from a lady, I know the style, 

Dainty perfume and the daintiest paper 
Would it be wrong the time to beguile ? 

"Thanks for the fan, just awfully sweet 
I'll thank you better when next we meet," 

Tick, tack, tickety, tack. 
I take, and I take, but I never give back. 

This I see is another kind, 
A wedding card in the latest fashion. 

And right on top in their sombre dress 
Two black-edged envelopes closely press. 

And the baby card in its tiny case 
Pushes its way to find a place. 

Thus you see I'm a world in myself, 
Joy and surprise, love and pleasure, 

Grief and despair, and life and death. 
All mixed up in common measure. 

Tick, tack, tickety, tack, 
I take, and I take, but I never give back. 




^4^ ' 



^ 




AlongtheWay 35 



MYSTERY. 

I CAN see it once more^ the old sun dial 
Whitened and loosely set 
Around whose base on a grassy slope 
We children often met 

To blow the puffs of the dandelions 

To tell the time of day; 
And never knew that the old sun dial 

Could have shown us another way. 

Until I heard some one grown up 

To a childish question tell 
That that quaint old wooden pillar 

"Could tell the time quite well." 

Then I looked at it and I watched it 

Till my wonder grew to awe. 
Till instead of that old sun dial 

A mysterious thing I saw. 

How could it, (a pillar of wood, 
With never a hand to mark the hour 

And never a key to wind it up) 
Have such a wondrous power .^ 



36 AlongtheWay 

But now I^ tooj am quite grown up 
The mystery's cleared away, 

I see how it was the old sun dial 
Could point out the time of day. 

Yet life hath still its mysteries 
That with wonder fill my heart; 

But I hope to grow once more to an age 
Where mystery hath no part. 



AlongtheWay S7 

A SHIP A SAILING. 

(Song) 

4 4 T SAW a ship a sailing, 

X A sailing on the sea/' 
How could I tell it was the ship 
That might come in for me? 

"I saw a ship a sailing, 

A sailing on the sea;" 
How could I tell it was my ship. 

My golden Argosy. 

"I saw a ship a sailing, 

A sailing on the sea;" 
How could I tell it was the ship 

That held my destiny? 

I saw her pass the harbor 

And vanish from the land. 
And did not make a signal 

Nor even raise my hand. 

I saw a ship a sailing, 

A sailing on the sea ; 
How could I know it was the ship 

That might come in for me ? 



38 AlongtheWay 

THE TIME TO HOLD YOUR TONGUE. 

WHEN your friend relates a story 
That he's told you o'er and o'er, 
Turning first to coolly ask you 

"If you've heard it e'er before." 
Though your provocation's dreadful. 

And you're bored almost to death 
That's the time, oh, tired brother! 
That's the time, to hold your breath. 

When the girl you hate so dearly 

Proudly tells you she's engaged 
To the man you used to flirt with 

And thinks that you're enraged. 
Don't tell her that on one small "No" 

You said, her fate has hung; 
But remember, worthy sister 

That's the time to hold your tongue. 

In fact, on most occasions. 

When you think you'd like to speak 
It is sure to be much wiser 

Not to even give a squeak. 
For that bad "Unruly member" 

Is very lightly hung. 
And the wisest thing you ever did 

Was that time you held your tongue. 



AlongtheWay 39 

OUR FELLOW MAN. 

WHO is he^ this mysterious person 
Before whose mandate all must bend? 
This omnipresent^ calm, all-seeing judge of us, 
Now foe, now friend? 

It isn't Smith, our next door neighbor. 

We would not give a rap for him. 
Nor his opinions on a subject. 

His principles are very dim. 

It isn't Jones across the corner 

We care no more for him than Smith ; 
But some way Smith and Jones together 

May constitute this potent myth. 

Who holds a power more great than Juno, 
Whose sceptre rules o'er land and sea. 

And from whose j udgment, cool, unerring. 
There's no reprieve for you nor me. 

He goads the lagging steps of genius. 
He deals award of praise and blame. 

And for his crown of commendation, 
"The great, the fair, the good" all aim. 

Who is he, this mysterious person? 

Who rules from Beersheba to Dan, 
Before whom all creation trembles 

This composite — Our Fellow Man. 



40 AlongtheWay 



A NAME. 

FAR greater he who carves 
Through poverty and toil himself a name 
Than he, who swims between the sunny banks of ease. 
Unto the golden shores of fame. 



AlongtheWay 41 



OLD SONGS. 

I CANNOT sing the old songs now 
I sang long years ago. 
For some are lost^ and some are gone 
And some I do not know. 



42 AlongtheWay 



IN TEN MINUTES. 

YOU ask me to write 
In not ten minutes quite 
A perfect piece of rhyme, Sir, 

And if I do, no thanks to you 
And no thanks to time. Sir. 

If mine's the worst 
With my emotions I'll burst 

Before I'll be seen to cry. Sir, 
But if mine's the best 

Why, then let it rest 
'Twon't be that I'm any the wiser. 



AlongtheWay 43 



AT CAMP. 

ANOTHER year and here again 
We idle as we did of yore. 
We turn the night to day and then 

Late on into the morning snore. 
No thought have we of care or pain. 

Too lazy e'en to make a fuss 
When all the cold, relentless rain 

Comes through the hut and dampens us. 



44 AlongtheWay 



THE CORDUROY ROAD. 

HALF a log, half a log 
Half a log onward 
Shaken and out of breath, 
Rode we and wondered. 
Ours not to reason why, 

Ours but to clutch and cry- 
While onward we thundered. 



AlongtheWay 45 



A BEQUEST. 

ONLY a shrunken sunflower 
Withered and lean and tall; 
But ah, the tender memories 
To me^ those blooms recall! 

I watch him woo a maiden, 

I see him raise his hand 
To pluck those golden blossoms 

That now all withered stand. 

He never plucked the flowers 
His words were all in vain, 

He left that maiden's presence 
Stung by a cruel pain. 

Though he was a proud young lover 
And I but a humble bee; 

But what was sweet for lovers 
Wasn't honey for me. 



46 Along the Way 



BELATED. 

UP the road and over the hill! 
Trot along quickly Jerry^ 
There's much of the road before us still 
And the friends that await us are merry. 

Up the road and over the hill ! 

The moments drag slowly and tardy, 
Though Jerry is patient and jogs with a will 

And strong are his muscles and hardy. 

Now we have reached it, over we go 
Ho, for the friends that await us ! 

Drat on the pitch holes that make us go slow. 
And drat on the roads that belate us ! 



AlongtheWay 47 



THE CAPTAIN. 

(Song) 

THERE are heroes too, who ne'er go forth to fight 
Never kill their fellow man as heroes do. 
But the honour is to him, whether it be wrong or right. 
To the man who at the helm commands the crew. 

And if things go wrong, it is he who takes the blame 
Not the man who's down below or at the gun 

For the obloquy's to him, the disgrace and the shame 
To the man who has command of everyone. 

Then if things go right it is he should have the fame, 
The honour, and the praise and fair renown. 

For the credit is to him, the reward and the name 
To the man who is the head for everyone. 



48 AlongtheWay 



LITTLE SHIPS. 

{Song) 

LITTLE ships that run to port 
When the weather's stormy. 
Find their calm in mother's arms 
Harbor safe and balmy. 

Little ships must drift away 

Out upon life's ocean. 
Fain they'd sail another day 

To that calm devotion. 

Little boats must struggle on 
Battered, bruised, and broken. 

Till they anchor far away 
In that port unspoken. 

There the Harbor Master waits 
And the lights are steady, 

While the waters smooth and calm 
Give them welcome ready. 



AlongtheWay .49 



THE MANITOBA FARMER, 

WHERE wide and boundless prairies roll 
He turns the soil, as black as coal 
Six feet beneath him, mile on mile. 
Those uncut diamonds glowing smile. 
The earth below no longer sleeps. 
It feels the touch, and stirs, and leaps. 
Awakening from its centuries' rest 
Like some strong infant, glad, refreshed; 
And breaking into gleeful smile 
It heaps its treasures pile on pile 
Of yellow wealth, a golden store. 
That only grows from taking more. 
No landlord's foot upon his neck 
His new born manhood's ardours check. 
No old world phantasy of caste 
Shall hold him now from out the past. 
New spirit, courage, and new soil 
Make him a king, the king of toil. 



50 Along THE Way 



AT DANVILLE. 

THE hills lift up their gentian heads 
Where mellow 'neath the skies 
The fields are ripening for the scythe. 
Where this breezy village lies. 

And on the crest of a nearby hill 

The village fathers sleep 
Among the fields they loved so well 

"Their silent watch they keep." 

No fret nor toil can reach them now. 

Nor tumult of the mart. 
Quiet each hand and calm each brow. 

And still each honest heart. 

Not for the sound of a name they strove 
Nor shout of the world's applause; 

But patiently turned their thoughts to the soil, 
And their minds to nature's laws. 

Some went afar in search of fame. 

Of honour, wealth, or power; 
But this sweet spot of their childhood's days 

Has welcomed them home once more. 



AlongtheWay 51 



WINGS. 

WITH the speed we used to make those days 
The Railway wasn't in it. 
The Automobile and Aeroplane 
Couldn't begin to spin it. 

We fled in a trice to India 

And lived in a region tropic. 
Or transplanted ourselves to Rotten Row 

In a period microscopic. 

We aired our silks of the latest style 

With other dames of fashion, 
And only came to ourselves again 

When the rocking chair took to crashing. 

Into the furniture right behind. 

When we became too rocky 
(Of course our horses were spirited 

And sometimes would grow balky) . 

And then when we grew tired of the "Row" 

We vanished off to France, 
And drove in Paris and other towns 

With considerable elegance. 



52 AlongtheWay 

We entered the drawing rooms of the great 

With manners chic and easy. 
And lolled in our chariot through the Bois 

Or down the Champs Ely see. 

I was just enough older than she 

To win her admiration, 
And she took her cue as quick as a flash 

In every situation. 

She was a willing little slave 

To all my errant fancies. 
And lent herself with an air of grace 

To our wonderful elegancies. 

Now the little sister has travelled far 

In a chariot swifter still, 
And I am left to reach vain hands 

O'er that space we cannot fill. 

For I, alas, am sorry to say, 

Am neither here nor there ! 
And I wish I had wings as I had those days 

In that dear old rocking chair. 



AlongtheWay 53 



THE DESERTED FARM. 

QUIET now the portal where once the children played, 
Hushed the merry prattle at the door. 
Smokeless the old chimney where erst the fire was laid 

Silent now the footsteps on the iloor. 
But the house is haunted 

With joys that now are past 
Hospitality I never shall forget 

Memories of kindness that, aye, for tim(^ must last. 
And their sweetness surely lingers yet. 




54} AlongtheWay 



NAPOLEON. 

UP through the ranks of men he sprung 
Meteor-like^ alone. 
On his bold will the whole world hung 
While well he filled a throne. 

He named his family kings and queens. 

His hand was on the helm. 
He did not know what justice means, 

His game was making realm. 

To peaks unsealed before by man 
He climbed, and shone, and strayed. 

But having no strong grasp on God 
He wavered, flickered, swayed — 

Then, like a rocket, black and spent 
He dropped from out the height, 

Plumbed the dark depths of discontent 
And sputtered out of sight. 



AlongtheWay 55 



A PORTRAIT. 

SHE sat for us to paint her so 
A member of the class, 
With her beautiful auburn hair aglow 
A lithe and graceful lass. 

We said we'd make a "scheme" of her, 

With her glorious hair so Titian, 
That would make an artist dream of her 

And that manner so patrician. 

We said we'd like to have on her 

With that wonderful hair aglow 
Her soft kimona, lavender 

On her sloping shoulders so. 

The soft, cool tone of that pale green light. 
Was the sheen of the woodbine there. 

That rustled without in the summer night 
A background for her hair. 

The red of her hair, and the green of the leaves. 
And that old, silk, mauve, Kimona, 

Together a picture so queenly weaves 
That we gave her the name Corona. 



56 AlongtheWay 



CANTERBURY. 

THIS cathedral_, old and hoary. 
Was the nurse of England's faith. 
Foster-mother of her glory. 

Reared the infant from its birth. 

On this lap, so broad, capacious 
Lay the baby safe, and warm. 

With her arms so strong and gracious 
Held the suckling safe from harm. 

Cradled it, and soothed and scolded; 

W^atched its tottering baby feet, 
With her mother love enfolded 

Till it ventured out complete. 

Through these arches, once so stately, 

Many a history maker trod. 
Men who served their nation greatly. 

Served their sovereign and their God. 

Great Augustine, godly, wary. 
Paced this spot so hallowed now. 

Taught sweet Bertha, missionary, 
How to make her husband bow 



AlongtheWay 57 

To the One God, and to love him_, 

Baptized him in Christian rite_, 
Turned his thoughts to things above him. 

From the darkness to the light. 

Chaucer, Odo, Anselm, Becket, 

Wandered here so long ago, 
And their memories bedeck it 

With a never fading glow. 



58 AlongtheWay 



THE MILL. 

FROM every corner of the earth 
Our people are. 
From distant lands that gave them birth 
From near and far. 

Slav, Prussian, Hindu, border thief 

Come crowding in. 
With Mohawk and Comanche chief 

And such like kin. 

Old Sam proceeds to grind them fine 

With every man. 
Each one drops in and falls in line 

American. 

The native from far Afric's sward 

Begins to fade; 
He's part of us now fast and hard. 

Our brother made. 

And from that sweet and verdant spot 

Old Erin's Isle, 
The mill wheel almost grows too hot 

And clogs awhile. 



AlongtheWay 59 

But who when he is minced the same 

With every man. 
Will fonder be of that proud name? 

American. 

I'd like to know what we'll turn out, 

'Twixt you and me, 
When Sam's been at it just about 

Another century. 



60 AlongtheWay 



OLDE PLYMOUTH TOWNE. 

WEARY and tired they put me down, 
A Pilgrim in Olde Plymouth Towne 
The spot I was to see at last 
Rich with the relics of the past. 
I'd dreamed of it for many a year — 
That hallowed place by all held dear, 
How leaning 'gainst that sacred rock 
I'd hear the diapason shock 
Of waves, break on that rugged shore. 
Taking me back two hundred years and more. 
(Just here I'll say I found the rock. 
And incidentally the shock) 
It lay up on a dusty street 
Surrounded by a paling neat. 
They locked at «ight for fear of thieves 
(A husky one, that weight, who heaves!) 
But then the shore, that rugged coast 
Of prose and poetry the boast ! 
I found it, too, where sluggish waves 
Acted for old tin cans as graves. 
Refuse from names of ancient worth, 
Aldens and Brewster s, and so forth. 
They still remain to catch the eye 
On sign and placard raised on high, 






Old Plymouth Towne 



AlongtheWay 61 

And my sweet hostess, hospitable, gay, 

Carried the name of Hathaway. 

Of course I realized that time 

Had altered things since that old rhyme. 

The poet's eye had pierced the past 

And that grand picture, which must last. 

Was true, for where the town. 

Dips now, so sudden down 

To that wide stretching beach. 

In that far day, the waves did reach: 

And then a virgin forest stood 

Where now is house, and street and road. 

In this old lane I pictured there. 

Still can I see Priscilla fair. 

Tripping along, but not alone. 

For near that quaint old wall of stone 

John Alden comes to keep the tryst 

From other lanes that curve and twist. 

A man as trusted in his word 

As he was doughty with his sword. 

'Tis true this lane was surely trod 

By just those two, but every rod 

Was covered then by those great trees 

Whose "giant branches" stirred the breeze 

(Or words something like that, 

I haven't got it very pat) 

The same old spring still runs as clear, 

As it did in that fateful year, 

"God's Acre," now so restful and so still. 



62 AlongtheWay 

Once echoed war whoops wild and shrill 
Where the sturdy little stockade stood 
Sheltering the dear ones from that brood 
Of stealthy red men, pouncing down 
To curdle the blood of Plymouth Towne, 
Ah, it was full of valient men ! 
(But I'm glad I saw it now, not then.) 



AlongtheWay 63 

FLATBUSH GARDENS. 

HIDDEN away, like the petals 
That cling to the heart of a rose, 
These dear old Flatbush gardens 
In the midst of the city repose. 

Its hurrying tumult crowds them, 

And soon the thirst for gold 
Will lick them up as the Simoon 

Licks up the streamlet cold. 

But now their paths are fragrant 

With garden flowers aglow — 
Old fashioned blooms of the country 

In sweet profusion blow. 

And when I hear my hostess 

Announcing in accents clear 
She "Must go to Brooklyn to market" 

I exclaim "Why, Brooklyn is here." 

Stealthy, solid, and busy. 

It has crept up to her door. 
But so strong is the force of habit 

That she goes "To town" as of yore. 



64 AlongtheWay 



FORT MARION GATE. 

NO Spanish sentry paces now. 
No guard is at the gate. 
Where those ruined entrance pillars 
Stand grim and desolate. 

The strong porticullis, broken. 

Now keeps no foe at bay 
Where old Fort Marion's rampart 

Stands staunch, and dark, and gray. 

The dungeons long have loosed their bars 
And hold no stricken wretch. 

No forms within those sodden cells 
In dread and anguish stretch. 

But my mind as swift as the sea-gull 
Sweeps back to that long ago. 

And pictures of that other day 
Kaleidoscopic show. 

What gay Hidalgos enter 

From their galleys off the sea ! 

What dark browed priests are gathered 
In this little colony ! 




Fort Marion Gate 



AlongtheWay 65 

Did they come to preach the gospel 

To the errant redman's soul? 
Or was it lust for booty 

Chose this garden for their goal? 

They builded well and surely, 

On this spot beside the sea, 
And their mission bells are calling 

Through four centuries to me. 



66 



Along the Way 




ROBERT L. STEVENSON AT BAKER COTTAGE 

THE same old lilac guards the gate 
Where once his footsteps strayed; 
The same old chimney stands today 
Where those sweet tales were laid. 

The kind old couple linger yet^ 

Who catered to his wants; 
And with reverence they handle 

The relics of his haunts. 

But he has wandered far afield. 

Where wider vistas lure^ 
And richer gems of thought he strings 

On golden chains more pure. 



The river glides below the same — 

The lazy Saranac. 
Reflecting gorgeous maples 

And the fragrant tamarack. 








C^^-'f^] 



The Roofs of Saranac 



AlongtheWay C7 

But he will watch its banks no more, 

Unless from higher plane, 
Nor weave his fancies on its edge 

With the shuttle of his brain. 

The beauteous mountains beckoned him 

To higher range of thought. 
Their mystery and color 

His glowing visions brought. 

And mind the lord of matter 

Laid the phantom for a time 
As he spun his woof of fiction 

And wove his web of rhyme. 







68 AlongtheWay 



THE LIGHTS OF SARANAC. 

THEY sparkle in the village. 
They twinkle on the hill, 
They dance upon the water 

In the night air, soft and still. 
They light the river pathway 

A string of shining gems^ 
And Lake Flower's skirts embroider 

Where the town her border hems. 
They swing a dancing circlet 

Around Mt. Pisgah's neck 
And up and down, and round about, 

The whole long town bedeck. 
They hang like fairy garlands 

Through pine and tamarack 
They flash like glowing fireflies 

The Lights of Saranac. 





Roofs of Saranac 



AlongtheWay 69 

THE ROOFS OF SARANAC. 

SNUGGLED in the village, 
Sheltered 'neath the hill. 
Toppling on the river 

Go where'ere I will. 
Spire, and tower, and turret, 

Picturesque and fair. 
Posing to be painted 

Await me everywhere. 
Clustered in the valley. 

Alone upon the height. 
Glimpses down an alley 

That fill me with delight. 
Like some old foreign city. 

Perched among the hills. 
What beauty here to study 

Its every roadway fills. 
Ahead, behind, and everywhere. 

Way off, and near, and back, 
Compose for me unconsciously 

The roofs of Saranac. 



sfflf*^-'^^* 



Along the Way 



BEYOND. 

I HAVE a longing now and then 
A queer unsanctioned thought, 
That I might wander back again 

Down centuries that are not. 
That I might thread, in flesh and mind. 

The paths of other days. 
And leave this era's dust behind 

From my adventuring ways. 
Not that I hold my own time least, 

"The heir of all the ages" 
But that I long like some chained beast 

For freedom, bold, courageous. 
To stroll where'er I would through time. 

To dally here or yonder. 
To rest in some fame scented clime 

Or through some epoch wander. 
Where joust and tournament took place 

And ladies fair awaited 
With gracious mien and beaming face 

To crown their lords elated. 
I'd like to press the hands of those 

I've loved in song and story, 
I'd like to watch the armies close 

In battle fierce and gory. 



AlongtheWay 71 

As, when on some fair English field 

The early Henrys wrested 
In Norman hauberk, bow and shield 

With Saxon knights all crested. 
And then to take a peep at France, — 

In all her pomp and splendor, 
Before the wild beast, passion, chance, 

Of revolution rent her. 
And even then, though slow my way. 

And loath to mix with madness, 
I'd like some pitying word to say 

To her, the queen of sadness. 
Who bore with dignity and grace 

Her cruel humiliations. 
Bereft of all, her throne, her place, 

Deserted by the nations. 
And when I thought I'd had enough 

Of other men and ways 
Come tramping up the time worn steps 

That lead to our own days. 
But here I am like some chained beast 

Tied to a peg of time. 
Condemned to dance until released 

My little runic rhyme, 
Around and round the same old peg 

The groove may deeper grow; 
But no far reaching circles spread 

That I may know. 



72 AlongtheWay 

Allowed to wear the groove so deep 

Around and round, and round, 
Or straining at my rope to creep 

An inch on further ground. 
Some, who content to gambol loose 

With lax untensioned string, 
Will never feel the galling noose 

That checks those wandering. 
For some will stretch their rope too much 

And strain toward the vast 
Out-lying worlds, whose borders touch 

Ahead, or from the past. 
Now I must neither chafe nor fret 

The good Lord tied me here. 
His meaning is not shown as yet. 

It has not been made clear. 
Each link connects with other link 

To make the chain complete 
And I must be content to think 

My little circle meet. 



AlongtheWay 73 



PRE EXISTENCE. 

I KNOW I am, and feel I am to be 
For evermore, and think it strange 
There could have been a time 

Without a me. 
What does forever more mean? 

If not always? 
And always means not just from now, 

Until the then of future days. 
Infinite, but from now till then. 

And back, so it doth seem to me, 
E'en unto now again. 

And I do feel that I have been before 
And in some other form perchance 

Did other spheres explore. 
Who'll tell me whence my soul did spring? 

Or who can tell what sponsors stood 
At my soul's christening? 



74 AlongtheWay 



PERFECTION. 

THERE is a point this side perfection 
Where genius halts, 
And carefully steps aside, 

For fear from one false move. 
One over touch, she ruin all 

That's gone before. 
Success more often crowneth him 

Who wisely leaves a part undone. 
Than him who busily 

Does all too well. 



AlongtheWay 75 



THE HALF WAY HOUSE. 

i i \ LITTLE while we live," 

XjL We mortals say 
As though our living were a thing 

Of just today. 
As though the future wide and vast 

Had nought of life 
Nor yet the past. 

Forgetting this world's 
But a travellers' inn along the way, 

A stopping place, a half way house 
Where we may stay 

Until the plans unfold. 
Just holding back 

Until our guide 
Disclose the track. 



76 AlongtheWay 



A JOURNEY. 



WE travel by the land 
And we travel by the sea 
But there is still a journey 

That is left for you and me. 
Out of the gates of custom, 

Beyond the walls of clay, 
Past the hedges of environment 

We all must take our way. 
On through the mind's fair regions 

Until we reach the goal, 
The wide and glorious country 

Heaven-bounded, of the soul. 
Then pushing on within it. 

On beyond the mind. 
We smile at times to see how far 

We leave ourselves behind. 
Old habits lose their ancient power 

Old hate is turned to love. 
The world lies all beneath us 

And only God above. 
Till pushing on still further 

We almost think we see 
Beyond the merely visible 

Into eternity. 



AlongtheWay 77 



A BUNCH OF FLOWERS. 

LIFE threw me a bunch of flowers one day, 
A bunch of lilies rich and rare; 
But it was not lilies I wanted then 
And so I left them lying there. 

Again Life threw me from out her store. 
For she hath many both rich and sweet. 

But I sighed for only "The Rose, The Rose" 
And left them lying at my feet. 

At last to my joy Life threw it down 
And oh! to my sight it looked so fair! 

But e'en as I stooped at my eager grasp 
The petals falling lay scattered there. 

Then turning back I sought again 

The flowers I had carelessly thrust aside; 

But not a bloom did I ever find. 
For all neglected they'd withered and died- 



78 AlongtheWay 



THIS WORLD AND THAT. 

THERE is no "This" world and no "That' 
We know that both are one. 
And our heaven^ if we will it 
Here on earth may be begun. 

God works not as we do. 

And sees not in our way. 
He can weave into His heaven 

Our common every day. '' 

With its troubles and temptations 

That worry us and vex. 
Its sordid cares of living 

That do so sore perplex. 

Its routines and common places. 

Each petty mean detail, 
The things that we succeed in. 

And the things in which we fail. 

He can use them if we let Him 

In His own wondrous way 
So as to make of heaven 

Our common every day. 



AlongtheWay 79 



WHY. 

WHY do we strive so hard to hold 
The NeWj we prize today so much? 
When it tomorrow as the Old 
May better prove as such. 

Why do we so regret the youth 

We think we've left so far behind, 

When age is but the door, forsooth 
Through which eternal youth we find ? 



80 AlongtheWay 



RICHES. 

I SAW a man grown aged with care 
In counting o'er his treasured gold, 
Each stock, and bond, and railway share 

Had only helped to make him old. 
And as he reckoned up his wealth, 

Countless it seemed so great a store, 
I saw that it with subtle stealth 

Had made him sad and left him poor. 
Then I saw a little boy 

Run out into the wayside sand, 
And with a shout of happy joy 

He strained it shimmering through his hand, 
And gloated over it anew 

As though he'd found a gift untold. 
Which was the treasure of the two? 

The wayside dirt, or miser's gold.'* 



AlongtheWay 81 



SOME NEW THING. 

COME poet now, and book me 
Some new thing." 
Thus to the poet 

Spoke the unhappy king. 



From our first baby days 

When nothing pleases like a shining shoe, 
Through all life's older, varied ways 

The mind delights in something new. 
That which we have always doth tire. 

As words repeated oft their meaning lose. 
To what we have not do we all aspire 

So from the beaten tracks we turn to choose 
The fresher good, that beckons from afar; 

But often when we hold it near 
We find it like some bright star 

That's fallen, all dull appear. 
No longer shining as we thought, 

As we approached its brilliancy withdrew. 
But lo ! a marvel has been wrought ! 

That which was old is once again the new. 
So when this world grows stale and old. 

And nought seems fresh to me and you. 



82 AlongtheWay 

We do but leave it and behold ! 

Another world all bright and new. 
Though I do think the next may be, 

But after all this same old life, 
Made fresh and bright eternally, 

Without the pain, without the strife. 



AlongtheWay 83 



MUSIC. 

OUR life is like a harp 
Which we may tune^ for well, or ill. 
But on which God will play 

And make the music of our days 
In His own way. 

He will not always strike the notes of gladness 

Each joyous chord of life 
Is close beside some minor key. 

Which must be sometimes struck 
To swell the tune to perfect melody. 



84; AlongtheWay 



YOU AND DEATH. 

DID you ever brush 'gainst death? 
Feel the breath 
Of the monster on your face? 

Then some grace 
Interposed^ he withdrew; 

But for you 
Ever after life was changed, 

Rearranged. 
Side by side with your joys — 

Earthly toys, 
Phantom-like and grim 

Knowing him 
Still he stalks. You forget? 

Never yet. 
Though at times dimly shown. 

Never thrown. 
Turn and speak and maybe 

He will answer, ask him why 
You must die. 

Turn and wrestle with him now. 
Never bow. 

Till he whisper mid the strife — 
I am Life ! 



AlonotheWay 85 



NOT WHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD. 

THE bird had its place to nest. 
The flower its spot to bloom. 
But in all this God created earth 
His Son could find no room. 

The little child that slept, 

Was lulled on its mother's breast. 

But the child of the Lord who had given all 
Could find no place to rest. 

Human He was, though God, 

Tired by His human care. 
But so homeless on this cold earth of ours 

As to envy the beast his lair 

Heir though He was to a crovm, — 

Son of the Lord and King, 
There was no beggar in all the land 

So poor in each earthly thing. 

Who was to blame, the Jew? 

Who was to blame, the Greek? 
Ye who reject him now reply, 

And ye who refuse him speak. 



86 AlongtheWay 

MY FRIEND. 
To M. H. 

I LIKE her not so much for what she is, 
As what she means to be. 
For like an open manuscript 
Her spirit is to me. 

Not by cold words. 

The awkward chain of speech. 
But by the joining hands of thought 

Each answers unto each. 

And we hold converse sweetest often 
When our tongues are still. 

No distance can divide us ! 
No space we cannot fill! 

She has her faults, I know them 

She also knoweth mine. 
But e'en our very failings. 

Our spirits do entwine. 

No aspersions, nor calumny, 

Could have effect on me. 
Because, you see, I love her 

For what she means to be. 



AlongtheWay 87 



A HEAVENLY TOUCH. 

WAS it a dream^ or was it a fancy? 
Was it some errant thing round in the night? 
That breathed on my soul with a soft necromancy 
And filled all my heart with a subtle delight? 

It wasn't a dream, nor it wasn't a vision, 
That faded and left me at breaking of day, 

And I'm sure as I slept that something Elysian 
Had brushed 'gainst my soul as it sped on its way. 

I can't say how far my spirit had travelled 

To meet and commune with that heavenly guest. 
But I know in the morning I wakened and marvelled 
To feel, that my care burdened soul was at rest. 



88 AlongtheWay 



THE WIRELESS WORD. 

ACROSS my soul on vibrant string 
The message of his love is set. 
The soul attuned that found me here 
Across the abyss can reach me yet. 

Wireless and soundless, true and straight. 
As falcon's wing that cleaves the air. 

The message from the other side 

Vibrates, and keeps me from despair. 

With such a mind he could not die. 
The flesh but loosed him, set him free, 

And I who follow far behind 

Can feel him turn and beckon me. 

There is so much we do not know. 
That little else it matters not — 

Why we should live, why we should die, 
Or why we should have been begot. 

But this is all I feel I know 

Somewhere, somehow, he waits for me. 
Meanwhile the messages he sends 

Find me across that soundless sea. 



AlongtheWay 89 



THE WORLD IS SMALL. 

4 if I iHE world is small." Our neighbor flees 

-I. To hide in parts unknown. 
But when we take a trip that year 
His face next door is shown. 

"The world is small." We travel far 

To leave our pain behind. 
But when we get there, cheek by jowl 

The same old pain we find. 

And worlds are small, and when we flee 

And leave this world behind. 
My other someone says to me 

The same old world we'll find. 

So what's the use of rushing off 

These fields so green to see 
When the dear, old, arid wastes I know 

Are good enough for me. 



90 AlongtheWay 



A SONG OF NOW. 

ARE there no songs worth singing 
Save those that have been sung? 
Are there no tunes worth ringing 
But the tunes already rung? 

We sigh for the days that are vanished 

And dream of days to be. 
But is all beauty banished 

From the present for you and me? 

No^ the days that are should be better 
Than the days that were by far 

No thought of the past should fetter 
Our joy in the days that are. 

For the past has shut forever 

Its adamantine door 
And it may be that never 

Shall we traverse the days before. 

So I'll sing my song of the present 

I'll sing my song of now. 
For there is much that is pleasant 

In the days that are, I trow. 



Along THE Way 91 



WAVES. 

I STOOD by the shore of the lake 
And watched the waves at my feet 
Come up to rise and break, 
Go back with a sure retreat. 

Some rose with a mightier force. 

Broke in a grander crest, 
Left for a while in their course 

A mark higher up than the rest. 

But just as surely went back 

Into the infinite deep. 
Their foam submerged in the track 

Of the incoming waves in their sweep. 

Some that were weak and small 
Went back with the undertow. 

Scarce making a song at all, 
Just a soft murmur and low. 

Which lingers long in the heart 
With a cadence far more sweet, 

Than the noisier, brilliant part 
Of some of the waves at my feet. 



92 



Along the Way 



And I liken the waves of the lake 

Unto the lives of men 
On the shores of time that break 

And then go back again. 

Back to the boundless sea^ 

The ocean from which they sprang. 

Where, methinks, with a fuller melody- 
Shall the rest of their song be sung. 




^^^ 



AlongtheWay 98 



TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. 

COLD tenement of clay, 
From which the soul is fled, 
Why lingerest yet among us 

Though numbered with the dead? 

What mockery of nature. 

What mystic art of man, 
Has kept thy poor form shapely 

While countless ages ran? 

If thy shrunk eyes could open. 
With power thy voice could swell. 

What marvels of antiquity 

Thy parchment tongue could tell. 

While we who gaze upon thee 
With consciousness of power. 

Would shrink before thy knowledge 
Thy wisdom's mighty dower. 

And how wouldst thou regard us. 
With wonder in thine eyes. 

For wonders which we call our own. 
Discoveries which we prize? 



94 AlongtheWay 

Or wouldst thou smile upon us 

With pity in thy face 
To think that we may never know 

The science of thy race? 

And as mid night for ages 
Thy shapen form did lie 

So it may now mid sunshine 
As ages more go by. 

While he who brought thee hence^ 
From far and ancient lands, 

"Dust unto Dust" hath since returned 
With meekly folded hands. 

Still this thy lesson teach. 
With this our minds imbue 

That what to us seems latest found 
From age has been made new. 



AlongtheWay 95 

POOR JONES. 

4 4T)00R Jones is dead!" 

JT The words go out from mouth to mouth, 
'Tis all that is or can be said, 

Just those two words in many tones — 
"Poor Jones !" "Poor Jones !" 

Perhaps a word or two, — 

'Tis always thus when that is old 
Which yesterday did seem so new, 

Will mingle now, of what he OA^ns, 
Or did, alas! Poor Jones! 

Why do we call him poor? 

Who dreamed at night of phantom griefs, 
And wakened but to trials more sure. 

Who looked on death as some sweet, dim. 
And restful touch, awaiting him. 

It is our little earthly way, 

We mean it well for lack of else; 
And we repeat ('tis hard to look beyond the clay) 

Just those two words in many tones 
"Poor Jones !" "Poor Jones !" 



96 AlongtheWay 



THE WINDOW OF SELF. 

I LOOKED out at life one day. 
Out of the window of self. 
And all the world looked hard and gray — 

Hard with the hardness from gold that starts, 
And gray with the grayness of lonely hearts. 

I looked out at life one day. 
Out of the window of self 

And all the world looked bright and gay — 
Gay with the gayness of happy hearts. 

And bright with the brightness 
That love imparts. 

So do we look each day, 
Out of the window of self. 

Judging life by our own alway 
Whether our hearts 

Be happy or sad, 
So will the world 

Seem goodly or bad. 
Thought I to myself one day. 



AlongtheWay 97 



THE KEY. 

I HELD a treasure in my heart. 
But, when I wished it to impart 
Its riches unto me^ 

I found, alas, I had no key. 
Then happiness was mine. 

And for awhile I basked in strong sunshine. 
Ah, now ! I thought ! I tuned my lyre, I sang. 

But through it all a dullness rang. 
Then I despaired and I forgot. 

Till all at once, unasked, unsought. 
My treasure emptied at my feet. 

In accents pure, and strong, and sweet. 
At last, at last, I'd found the key! 

When Sorrow laid her hand on me. 



98 AlongtheWay 



THE CONFESSIONAL. 

SHE stayed when all the congregation went. 
When down the lengthy aisles 
In long decorous files 

The people gently trod. 
While from the organ loft, 

The music sweet, and soft. 
Breathed of a forgiving God. 

I did not know her sin, 
Nor if, when she were all confessed. 

The priest with absolution blessed. 
Or painful penance dealt. 

I only know while in her eyes 
Like some poor hare's before it dies 

Her agony was spent. 
She stayed, when all the congregation went. 



Along the Way 



ADRIFT. 

I AM adrift upon a wide^ wide sea. 
The pitiless sun beats down on me 
By day, and when there comes the night 
I see no guiding harbor light. 
My anchor gone, my rudder lost 
I'm pitched and driven, tempest-tossed, 
I hear the distant, grinding boom 
Of waves that break in that dark gloom 
On dangerous cliff, and treacherous beach 
That I am heading fast to reach. 
And yet through all that black despair 
I feel my Harbor Master's there. 



100 Along the Way 

TIME EVENS ALL. 

THOUSANDS of years ago— 
When Moses over Egypt reigned, 
Almost a king, the records show, 

And Pharoh's daughter scarce obtained 
More faithful love — 

One day upon a temple stair 
As Moses sought the door above, 

A fleeing sailor met him there. 
Anguished his face and wild his eye; 

"Oh save me prince by thy great power. 
Oh save me prince!" but vain the cry 

No might had prince nor king that hour. 
The raging people seized their prey 

And trampled him beneath their feet 
Until a shapeless mass he lay. 

His fate considered meet. 
"What was his sin.^" Ye ask with bated breath. 

It was that then and long years after that, 
He merited such awful death. 

Who killed a sacred cat. 
Now ton loads of this one time god, 

(Oh, how our gods do fall!) 
Are sold for fertilizing sod. 

Time evens all. 



Along the Way 101 



EGYPT. 

OH, Egypt! I could weep for thee, 
Is there no hand to stay thy desecration? 
Cradle once for all the world, 

Now foot ball for each nation 
That needs a plaything. 

Shall it be that Cleopatra's bones 
Be hacked about a "Penny Show"? 

Her needle crumble 
In a western snow? 

The very gods stooped down 
To make thee great. 

And must I see thee now 
So desolate? 

I'd rather dream of thee 
In all thy proud entirety 

Than see thee scattered 
Piece meal round 

Thy relics cumbering 
Barbarous ground. 



102 Along the Way 

TRANSLATION OF THE LORELEI 
Heinrich Heine. 

I WONDER why such great sadness 
Disturbs me_, as I tell 
Of this old tale of madness, 
(Like a tolling funeral knell.) 

The air is cool and darkling 
And rapidly flows the Rhine, 

Where the mountain peaks are sparkling 
In the evening sunshine. 

The beautiful maiden queen 

Upon that throne so fair 
With wonderful gems is seen. 

As she combs her golden hair. 

She combs it with comb of gold, 

And singeth gleefully 
With a sweetness that can't be told 

An enchanting melody. 

The sailor in little boats 

Is seized with a wild desire. 

He sees not the cliff as he floats. 
His gaze on that glittering spire. 

I believe the waves will devour. 
In the end, both sailor and boat; 

If he cannot resist the power 
Of the Lorelei, afloat- 



Along the Way 103 



HER DAILY BREAD. 

SHE works all day for her daily bread, 
Aye, and raost of the night. 
And the pittance she earns as her reward 
Isn't worth the candle light. 

Some must struggle, and strive, and pinch, 

They dare not wait nor stop. 
On one side starvation and death. 

On the other the grim sweat shop. 

And what is her life when its all been told, 
But the grind of a great sweat shop. 

Where she earns her pittance as long as she can. 
Then must falter, and faint, and drop. 



NATURE NOTES 



Nature Notes 



107 



ALONE. 

ALONE, to be alone. 
When leaves are blown 
In rustling droves athwart the way. 

And grasses bend their heads to say 
Some leafy gossip of the wind. 

Some whispered secret of their kind. 
Alone? When chipmunks scold, 

And in their loneliness made bold 
Throw villanelles into my face. 

With gay, full-throated, saucy grace. 
Alone .f* When stooping down to nature's shell 

I catch the far reverberate swell 
Of nature's mysteries out thrown. 

If this be loneliness, how sweet to be alone! 




108 Nature Notes 

THE REALIST. 

HE stoops to paint the lines 
Beside the vein that marks a blade of grass- 
And misses all the pageants of the sky that pass 

The shifting of the shadows on the hill, 
The dancing of the light upon the rill 

He cannot paint- He sees alone 
By some small pool, a tiny stone 
Which he would make so real 
That, being boys, we fain would steal. 

He cannot reach the setting 

Of the sun behind the pines. 
Some shrivelled twig, torn by the winds. 

That hangs in limpness from a bough 
Will strain his every effort now 

Until he will produce again 
A thing of deadness of more pain 

Than was the first to look upon. 
Meanwhile another sunset's gone. 

He tears up green things by the roots 

To see how they may grow. 
Is only true what we may know? 

And what we touch alone the real? 
Are not the hidden things we feel 

Much more reality 
Than those we see? 

For things that show, to him who looks 
Are but the title words of books. 



Nature Notes 109 



MY WINDOW PANE. 

A PICTURE lies before me 
Pure are its tints and clear, 
Surely the touch of a master 
Has lately lingered here. 

Bits of frozen meadows 

Glint 'neath a frozen moon. 

And glimpses of stilly brooklets 
That melt not 'neath the noon. 

Against a sky all sparkling 

As if with diamonds set 
Pine-like trees lift up their heads 

In sombre silhouette. 

Flowers in starry bas-relief 

Intaglios of gold 
Like fabled, fairy dancing grounds 

My dazzled vision hold. 

Was it the North Wind's spirit 
That homesick passing by 

Wrought with his chilly fingers 
These beauties for mine eye} 



110 Nature Notes 

Methinks he brought on his palette, 
From regions of endless snow. 

Sketches of his native land 
A land we do not know. 

And I feel I have taken a journey 
Through parts man hath never seen. 

But alas ! Is it only fancy, 

And the North Wind's mystic sheen .^ 



Nature Notes 111 



ENGLISH VIOLETS. 



DEAR little English violets 
How sweet and shy you are! 
Hidden away in your green leaves 
Yet I find you out from afar. 

You, you purple beauty, 

Decked out like a royal queen, 

And you, you little girl fairy 

All in white with a tucker of green 

Breathe you never so softly 
You cannot hide from me. 

I will track you by your sweetness 
Though never a flower I see. 

And though when you are blooming 
Your sweetness fills the air 

'Tis when you're plucked and fading 
You are sweet beyond compare. 

Like friends, who when around us 
Though their virtues all may show, 

*Tis only when they leave us 
Their real worth we know. 



112 Nature Notes 



TO A DANDELION. 



AH, Dandelion yellow! 
Ah, Dandelion dear! 
For me you have no fellow 
In all the flowery sphere. 

You do not grow in choice spots, 
Nor flourish under glass; 

But smile in common garden plots 
And gild the roadside grass. 

I know you are plebeian 

Your life no culture knows, 

You are no blossom queen 
Like the lily and the rose. 

But then you look so cheerful, 
I can almost hear you sing. 

As you come in April tearful 
The first warm tint of spring. 



Nature Notes 113 



CLOVER BLOSSOMS. 



DOES your life seem full of worry. 
Do its daily cares oppress. 
Is your pathway sometimes shadowed 
By some passing bitterness? 

Then this lesson e*en from nature 
I would teach you, worried one — 

Like the happy little clover 
Turn your face unto the sun. 

Does your trouble seem too heavy 
For your weary heart to bear.^* 

Is your pathway wholly shadowed 
By some overhanging care.^* 

Then remember, darkest objects 
'Gainst the brightest lights are seen. 

And for having known the dark spots 
'Twill seem brighter in between. 

Life is full of little shadows 

Lying darkly all around, 
And of course we needs must see them 

If our eyes are on the ground. 



114 Nature Notes 



A HANDFUL OF LEAVES. 

THROWING some leaves in a brook one daj,- 
A handful of crimson autumn leaves; 
And idly watching them float away 
My mind a fanciful vision weaves. 

I'll take each leaf for a human soul 

Thrown down on the busy stream of life 

And watch each one to its chosen goal 
Mid the rocky channels with danger rife. 

But of all the leaves save the last that fell 
Floated lazily into a sheltered nook. 

There to their end content to dwell 
Useless alike to rock or brook. 

But the smallest of them all that day. 

The one that fell so far behind, 
I watched it float o'er each narrow way 

And through each rocky channel wind. 

Till, torn by many a j agged end. 

And cut by many a sharpened stone. 

Its way to a mossy bank did wend 

Where at last in peace it laid it down. 



Nature Notes 115 

And in the spring when the snows are gone^ 
And the moss springs up with fresher hue. 

We will bless the leaf that struggled on 
From whose sweet dust its beauty grew. 

We would not chide the leaves in the brook 
That sought their lives in peace to spend. 

But nobler far was the leaf that took 
The troublesome way to a useful end. 



116 Nature Notes 

A BIRD CALL. 

THERE is a bird that calls to me 
Throughout the live-long day, 
A plaintive little melody 

That plainly seems to say — 
Hark! Listen! there is one 

That's singing now afar — 
"You are too late, you are too late, 

You are too late, you are." 
I wonder what bygone event 

In its bird history 
Gave cause for such a sad lament. 

That breathes of mystery. 
I wonder why through all the day 

It should reiterate — 
Hark ! there is one that's singing now 

**You are too late, too late" 
And as it doth chirp unto me 

With sweet bird-like persistence 
It wakens up a memory 

That to an echo listens. 
Which like the bird doth seem to sing 

That same, sad, plaintive bar, 
"You are too late, you are too late. 

You are too late, you are." 



Nature Notes 117 




A DUAL TONGUE. 

THE English think they hear it say. 
Near and shrill, and far away, 
Far and faint, and near and shrill, — 
"Whip, Poor Will, Whip Poor WiU." 

The Frenchman listens at his door 
Hark ! 'tis singing now once more ! 

In purest French it seems to be 
"Bois Pourri, Bois Pourri!" 

Oh wily bird so politic! 

Thou knowest such a clever trick, 
Methinks thou knowest too. 

Of course 'twould never do 

In Canada, to sing thy lay 

In English, while across the way, 

The Frenchman listens too. 
As premier thou wouldst do. 



118 Nature Notes 



A VALLEY. 

A VALLEY where a river flows 
And wild sweet flowers bloom 
And every living thing has joy. 
And peace^ and room. 

Where wide and sunny meadows reach 
All odorous 'neath the sky, 

While folded round in purple rims 
The encircling mountains lie. 

I saw it all as I passed by 

And carried it away 
To lull the fret of city strife, 

And warm the winter's day. 



Nature Notes 119 



STRENGTH. 

I SAW the tiny petal of a rose 
Torn by a passing breath of air; 
But held by thread invisible 

It hung rotating there. 
A storm was brewing. 

In the sky. 
Like leaden chariots 

The clouds rolled by. 
Then nature held her breath 

And for a space 
Each leaf in terror 

Turned its face. 
'Twas past, fell havoc reigned ! 

Upon the ground lay giant trees ! 
I turned, and still I saw 

That little flower rotating in the breeze. 



120 Nature Notes 



THE LANDLORD. 

TO own some land,, all by thyself ! 
To have each tree and stone 
Hold thee as overlord 

And for their rental dues 
Pay thee with beauty, rest and peace ! 

And all the sweet green reaches of the wood 
Make pictures for thine eye. 

And music for thy soul 
So that it is a goodly rent 

They pay to thee in toll. 



Nature Notes 121 



A LULLABY. 

THE waves are lapping on the shore 
In rhythmed cadence^ soft and low, 
One by one they come and go, 

One by one they ebb and flow. 
A lullaby they're singing 

Unto the setting sun. 
And all the peace of eventide, 

And all of nature's sweet refrain, 
Fall back upon my heart again ; 

And resting there in sweetest strain 
A lullaby keep singing; 

A lullaby to pain. 



122 Nature Notes 



MISSISQUOI IN JUNE. 

OH ! fair art thou Missisquoi 
In the smiling June time light 
When the fields are full of clover 
And daisied armies white. 

When shines the little buttercup 

Along the roadside way. 
Where happy in their innocence 

The little children play. 

And fair art thou, Missisquoi 
When the mystic twilight fills 

All the air with dimmest shadows 
Lying soft o'er vale and hills. 

Like the stealthy scouts of darkness 
Sent to find the night a place 

Where in ambush it may hide it 
'Til the sun resumes the chase. 

Oh ! fair are thou, Missisquoi 
In the scented month of June, 

And my heart to thee in memory 
Will beat a pleasant tune. 



Nature Notes 123 



A MESSAGE. 

'*QOMEWHERE there's rest," I hear it 
k3 When unto my weary mind 
Comes the message soft, and gentle, 

In the murmur of the wind. 
When every throbbing heart beat 

Jars upon some tensioned string, 
And the phantom of the darkness 

Haunteth still awakening. 
When the tireless flute of memory 

Pipeth all in minor keys 
Dwelling longest on the saddest 

Making mournful melodies. 
Even then with whisper gentle. 

In the murmur of the sea, 
Or the glimmer of the moonlight, 

Comes this message unto me, 
"Somewhere there's rest." 



124 Nature Notes 



TWILIGHT. 

A YELLOW light is in the north, 
A light that glows to red, 
A paler moon through broken clouds 

Shines faintly overhead. 
The birds from out the neighboring trees 

Their good night message call. 
Upon my heart the benison 

Of twilight peace doth fall. 
And as I drink the beauty in 

A wish comes unto me 
That as the closing of this day 

May my life's closing be. 
A mellow glow within my heart. 

The glow of love for all 
The shining of my little light 

E*en though through clouds it fall. 



Nature Notes 125 



A DIMPLE. 

A DIMPLE on a woman's face should be 
Like sunshine on a rose^ 
Which with every passing breath 
Gently trembles, fades and goes. 



126 Nature Notes 



POWER. 

ROAR on proud ocean ! 
Dash thyself against thy crags, 
Bellow forth thy fierce emotion, 

Tear thyself in foaming rags ! 
Mighty thou art, and grand. 

But a Mightier than thou there is 
Who holds thee as in the hollow of His hand. 



Nature Notes 127 



THE NEREID'S DANCE. 

(Amphitrite singing) 
(Song.) 

COME my maidens, come ye Nereids, 
Hasten when I call ! 
Now we'll step a merry movement. 
Trip it one and all. 

Sea-weed wreathings be your garlands, 

Sea-foam drops your gems. 
For the brows of Doris' daughters 

Fitting diadems. 

Come, ye dainty, dallying creatures ! 

Haste ye lithesome maids ! 
(Not the sunbeams dancing 

Lighter fleck Aegean glades) 

Unto Nature's tuneful music 

Shall we dance today 
Hark! the waves are beating time 

Let Aeolus play! 



128 Nature Notes 

{They dance.) 

Heigh-ho, merry, heigh-ho! 

Now we're ready, off we go! 
Who shall stop a Nereid's pleasure 

When the hour is ripe? 
All together, keep the measure 

While the winds do pipe! 
Heigh-ho, merry, heigh-ho! 

Naught shall stay us, 
Waves obey us. 

The Present all is ours. 
And we lay upon the Future 

Hands that rob her of her stores. 
Heigh-ho, merry, heigh-ho! 

Now the Sun has sought his pillow 
The sleepy waves beat low. 

And the tired zephyrs 
Sighing, cease to blow. 

Come ye dainty, dallying creatures. 

Hasten back with me 
Ere the shadows wholly falling 

Cloud the Aegean Sea. 



Nature Notes 129 



THE MAID OF THE MIST. 

OH, mariner upon the sea 
Beware, beware! 
She's blind this night 

Who guideth thee. 
Her long damp hair 

Streams like a banner 
Far behind. 

Her face is fair, but oh, beware ! 
She's blind, she's blind! 

The bells are ringing on the shore, 

The bells may ring, but nevermore 
Shalt thou thy native country reach. 

Save thy dead body by the tide 
Be cast upon the beach. 

If thou this night shalt guided be 
By the fair spirit of the mist. 

For oh, beware ! she's blind, «he's blind 
Who guideth thee! 



130 Nature Notes 



THE OLD LOG HUT. 

VACANT the doorway. 
Rotted the floor, 
Gone all the glass 

Where the wind blows through. 
Sunk in a bed 

Of long, lank grass. 
Wet all day with the morning dew. 

Giant pines shelter it. 

Maple trees shade it. 
Little birds sing to it 

Many a song. 
Who was it fashioned it. 

Planned it and made it. 
Building so perfect, so straight, and so strong? 

Falling nuts pelt it 

As though they felt it 
A pity to see it 

So sad and alone. 
Wanton winds fling through it 

Wing through it, sing through it 
Hoping their company sweet may atone. 



Nature Notes 131 



Who was it planned it, 

Fashioned it, scanned it? 
Placed those old rafters? — 

So brown and so true, 
Clouds of smoke hung in it, 

Lullabys sung in it. 
Soothed Young America, long years ago. 

Who was it lived in it, 

Loved in it, died in it? 
Oh, all the memories 

Around this old hut! 
They seethe in it, wreathe in it 

Breathe in it, hide in it 
Making alive a past that is not. 



132 Nature Notes 



LIGHT AND SHADE. 

I LOOKED on a deep bow window 
While the moonbeams glinted in, 
Painting the sleeping flowers 
With a brightness soft and dim. 

Their shadows are lying before them, 
Like the hours that are past and dead. 

The brightness so mingled with darkness 
One hardly knows when it is fled. 

So the moonbeams and shadows, they teach us. 
Though sorrow and trouble are ours, 

That the brightness will mingle with darkness 
As well with us as with flowers. 



Nature Notes 133 




AN OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE INN. 

OLD stone fences mark the way. 
Tumbled down and rough and gray^ 
Efforts of another day. 
Door stones mark the entrance where 
Formerly good warmth and cheer 
Welcomed weary travellers here. 
Three great chimneys built of brick, — 
Wide, and generous, and thick, 
Former haunts of old St. Nick, 
Now are lying on the ground. 
Scattered widely all around. 
Where the wild sweet flowers abound. 
Degenerated apple trees 
Murmur sadly in the breeze 
Of other days than these. 
When ruddy children sampled too. 
Throwing old away for new. 
Just indeed as now we do. 
This old well! — What waters clear 
For man and beast were drawn up here. 
Away back many a year. 



134 Nature Notes 

Inside stronger waters flowed 
For those wanderers on the road, 
But I'm sure they weren't as good 
As this crystal shining spring 
Free to all for the asking. 
Leaving in its wake no sting. 
And this bunch of lilac trees ! 
Marks the garden boundaries, 
Once so full of flowers like these. 
Purple mountains gird it round- 
Wild deer browse on nearby ground. 
Where the partridge tame is found. 
Roadways leading ojff unseen 
Covered up in boundless green 
Once were highways not so mean. 
Poor old caravansary! 
Nothing much is left of thee 
Thou art but a memory! 



Nature Notes 135 



THE STORM SIGNAL. 

WHAT means this low unceasing moanj- 
This never changing monotone, 
That falls from the waters, storm presaging, 
Ere yet the stormy battle's raging? 

Meaneth it only that waves in breaking 
Over the stones this wail are making? 

Or doth it mean that up from the deep. 

Come the spirit voices of those who sleep? 

Sleep, ah yes ! but no rest have they, 
Drifted by current and eddy away; 

For awhile they lie in some shelly groove 
Then on with the current again they move. 

And ever when the storm is nigh 

They send aloft this mournful cry, 

A warning for some their lives to save. 

But a knell for others who find their grave. 



136 Nature Notes 



S'CONSET. 

SWEET lanes that lead to nowhere. 
Quaint streets that guide to naught. 
Cow paths that wandering go where 
The moors are beauty fraught. 

With golden rod, and aster. 

With mist, and purple haze, 
And time goes fast and faster 

Through the happy "S'conset" days. 



Nature Notes 137 



A FANCY OF MINE. 



(Song.) 

WAS it only a fancy of mine, 
Was it only a fancy of mine? 
That as I walked in a garden fair 

A little bird that was singing there 
Sang, "Twit a wee, I love thee" 

"Twit a wee, do you love me?" 
But hush, don't tell 

For 'twas only a fancy of mine. 

Was it only a fancy of mine. 

Was it only a fancy of mine? 
That as I walked by the shining lake 

The little waves o'er the stones that break 
Sang, "I love you, do you love me, 

I love you, do you love me?" 
But hush! don't tell 

For 'twas only a fancy of mine. 

Was it only a fancy of mine. 

Was it only a fancy of mine ? 
That as I walked in the garden fair 

That somebody else who was walking there 
Said, "I love you, do you love me? 

I love you, do you love me?" 
But I'll not tell, no, I'll not tell, 

For it wasn't a fancy of mine. 



138 Nature Notes 



THE PATH THROUGH THE WOOD. 

THE highway may be straight and wide 
That leads right to the town 
And I be late and far from home 
As the setting sun goes down. 

But though it may be farther round, 

And longer than it should, 
I can't help going home that way 

Down the pathway through the wood. 

For there I brush the leaves aside 

That rustle as I walk. 
And there the garrulous chipmunk 

Confides to me his talk. 

The tall straight trees stand sentinel 

To guard me on my way, 
And the little birds foregather 

At the closing in of day. 

Many a woodsy secret 

They tell me as I stroll. 
And it's wonderful the things I hear 

That are soothing to my soul. 

And though the highway is more direct. 

And go that way I should 
I'm sure to choose that little path 

That leads me through the wood. 



Nature Notes 139 



FLOWER GOSSIP. 

THE Hare bell sped with the news afar. 
The Jonquil wrote it up. 
The Day's-Eye spied it and hurried away 
To fill the Butter cup. 

The Buttercup full to the brim sped on 

To tell the Dandelion, 
Who roared it forth in the boldest way 

To his friend the Columbine. 

She straightway carried it along, 
As a proper Columbine ought. 

To a nice little friend she met that day, 
Who was called Forget-me-not. 

She remembered it all and more. 
For a friend who had the blues 

Lobelia by name, and a nice little flower 
Who was shocked at the terrible news. 

Nevertheless she took it on 

To a neighbor, the Hollyhock 

Who started out to seek a friend 
And found 'twas Four O'Clock. 



140 Nature Notes 

The Star of Bethlehem shed her light 
Where the deadly Nightshade fell^ 

Who whispered it forth in a blighting tone 
That chilled the sweet Bluebell. 

She shivered but tolled the news forthwith^ 

To confessor true Monkshood 
Who inflicted a penance on all the flowers 

As a proper confessor should. 

The Canterbury Bell rang out 

To call them all to mass. 
While Jack-in-the-pulpit made himself clear 

That things were at a bad pass. 

Now what was the gossip that all these flowers 

Were worried so much about .^ 
They said that the Rose and the Lily 

From the straight path had fallen out. 

And what was more 

No flower that blows 
Was as frail as the Lily 

Nor as full as the Rose. 




Nature Notes 141 



THE DUSK. 

THE stealthy Dusk creeps down apace 
In velvet stockinged feet. 
The noiseless shadows fall away 
Like soldiers in retreat. 

The hillside slides into the plain^ 

The plain into the sea^ 
And all the world falls back in space, 

A hollow harmony. 

I stand upon the brink and gaze 
Far down, where out of sight, 

The solid things I knew by day 
Are melted, in the night. 



142 Nature Notes 



A SUMMER NIGHT. 

THE sun has fallen from the sky, 
The signals of the dark, unfurled, 
Shake out their pennants there on high 
And trail like kite strings, o'er the world. 

A myriad tapers flash and leap 

Before Jehovah's altar vast. 
I catch the breath of flowers asleep. 

Like incense, swinging past. 

The great heart of the darkness throbs 
And pulsates with tremendous stroke. 

The mystery of my being robs 

My senses of their sense, I choke 

And strangle with the food for thought. 
The scintillating stars display. 

The unknown things around are not 
The tangibilities of day- 



Nature Notes 143 

The why, the how, the where, the when, 

I leave them all. Oh God, to Thee ! 
Just give me my lost youth again 

And all it might have meant to me ! 

Thy heaven they say is simply love, 

A thing we neither see nor grasp. 
So those bright things so far above 

More real are than things we clasp. 

If love is God, and God is love; 

Then heaven submerged in love must be. 
Oh, spare a little from above 

To knit this lower world to Thee! 

We reason round in circles wide. 

We swing far out beyond our ground. 

But our momentum fully tried 
Come back with sure rebound. 

The orbit of our circle true 

Will surely hold us in our place. 
These little journeys out from You 

But make us long to see Thy face. 



144! Nature Notes 

A MEADOW. 



(At Widewood.) 

I LOVE a meadow 
When the grass is long 
And every tiny thing ^ 

Can sing its little song. % 

I love a meadow 

When the grass is cat -f 

Though every tiny jr.;; 

Throat be shut. ^ 

When all the clover 

Blossoms gay 
Lie trampled 'neath 

The scented hay. 
I love a meadow 

Where its reaches wide 
Beckon me on 

To scenes untried 
Where I'm repaid 

As the hill dips down, 
Disclosing farms 

And woods^ and town. 
I love a meadow 

On the hilltop too, 
Whose summit gained 

Unfolds a view 
That stretches wide 

Like the "Promised Land" 



Nature Notes 145 

Before the Israelites, 

Where I stand. 
I love a meadow 

V/hen the twilight falls 
And from the dusk 

The brown thrush calls 
To his mate upon 

The neighboring hill 
Who answers with note 

Antiphonal. 
And heaven would be 

To me I think 
That grove beyond 

Where the thirsty drink 
In a crystal spring, 

Whose waters clear 
Through shimmering sand. 

Bubble all the year. 
And where the song 

Of old maple trees 
Croons me to sleep 

In the summer breeze. 



146 



Nature Notes 




•4S: 



OVER SEAS 

WESTERN skies may fairer be 
And reach in a higher dome; 
But there are no skies^ like the skies to me, 

That bend o'er my childhood's home. 
They tempted me forth with their tales of gold 

And joy in a land so new. 
But the ache in my heart can never be told 

For my country, to which I am true. 
My children's children may wave the flag 

That floats o'er the land of the free ; 
But my old flag while there's left a rag 

Is banner enough for me. 
It takes more generations than one 

To water the blood of a Celt, 
And though I may bask in a warmer sun 

My fondness for home will not melt. 
I stand on the shore and watch the track 

Of the vessels, that call to me. 
To follow the track of their salt spray back 

To my home far over the sea. 
\ 



5®9«^sa^SfeJ^ 




Nature Notes 14<7 



REMINISCENCE. 



THE perfume of a flower, 
That's wafted on the breeze, 
Brings back another hour 
With unknown subtleties. 

That moan, that's in the wind. 
Like cry of anguished thing. 

Or hopeless one who's sinned 
Beyond all pardoning. 

Stirs unplumbed depths of soul. 

Pre-natal histories. 
Whose echoes round me roll 

In unsolved mysteries. 

Some accent, sudden, nigh. 
Wakes slumberings of pain. 

Like restless infant's cry, 
That will not hush again. 

A bird note on the air 

Wrings soundless sobs from me. 
And still hands everywhere 

Strike chords of memory. 

And many a spirit takes 
Our earthways, from above, 

To soothe some heart, that breaks. 
With memories of love- 



MY FOREST QUEEN 



My Forest Queen 151 



MY FOREST QUEEN 

OH Nature, grand are all thy works ! 
The ocean where the monster lurks. 
And powerful currents run. 
The mountain, with its heights sublime. 
And snow-clad points, that e'en from time. 
Have glistened neath the sun. 

The river and the desert main. 
The valley, and the fertile plain, 

That food for all out-pourest. 
All these are great and wonderful. 
Each do I love, but over all, 

I love the verdant forest. 

Its shady depths and vistas green. 
Its mossy nooks, where ne'er I ween, 

A shy sunbeam would venture. 
Its swaying boughs, and grand old trees. 
Its never-ceasing melodies. 

From leaf and stream and creature. 

Here a sweet flower in wildness blows. 
And there a tiny brooklet flows 

Known only by its singing. 
Between a moss clad limb reclines. 
And up above the clambering vines. 

To branch and bough are clinging. 



152 My Forest Queen 

And here aside some leaves we turn, 
To find the airy lady fern, 

That hides in wild nooks flowery. 
And there a bolder kind, beyond, 
That opens out with feather frond 

In verdant, bell-like glory. 

No dreadful depths to terrorize. 
No awful heights that meet the skies 

And show man all his smallness. 
But fairy dells, and rounded knolls. 
And birds that pay their forest tolls 

In carols full of sweetness. 

And I should love thee, forest glades. 
'Twas 'mid thy cool and grassy shades 

That I first met My Queen. 
It chanced one day in idle mind. 
Weary of work and all mankind, 

I lingered in thy green- 

The sun, far westward in its flight. 
Shed o'er the earth that mellow light 

At close of day. 
A breaking twig, and someone there; 
Then looking up, a picture fair. 

Before my vision lay. 



My Forest Queen 153 

Between me and the crimsoning west 
A girlish form^ in light robe dressed. 

Unconsciously did stand. 
Her graceful sun crowned head was bent 
And on the ground her eyes intent 

Saw me not near at hand. 

Something she sought without success, 
For with a gesture of distress 

She quickly searched the ground. 
And as she turned she raised her eyes, 
And looked in mine with sweet surprise 

As though she were spell bound. 

Fearful of frightening her, I broke 
The silence then, and spoke 

And asked what she would find. 
A girlish blush o'er spread her face 
And with a shy and childlike grace 

She answered "Sir, you're kind!" 

So taking this for full consent 

My eyes and searching powers I lent 

To find her missing ring. 
Her mother's wedding ring she said 
And from her mother long since dead 

She owned no other thing. 



154 My Forest Queen 

As she talked I studied her 

And wondered that a child so fair. 

For little more she seemed. 
Should be in such poor garb arrayed, 
Coarse was her gown and roughly made ; 

But all her face redeemed. 

Her eyes, in color, gentian blue 

Just when that flower is drenched with dew. 

By curling jet seemed guarded. 
Her hair a molten, copperous gold 
In soft, caressing waves unrolled 

Around a snow-white forehead. 

The sweet, shy mouth was somewhat sad, 
As though through all her life she had 

Some secret sorrow carried. 
Each feature some fresh tribute paid. 
And each and all a fair shrine made 

Where I would fain have tarried. 

Full often I had trod that road 
To linger idly in the wood. 

And rest amid its green; 
But I would go more often now 
And with another aim I trow. 

To find My Forest Queen- 



My Forest Queen 155 

Three days passed by, of busy care. 
Such as men know who working, share 

A lawyer's hard vocation. 
But on the fourth, the court adjourned. 
Toward the wood I fondly turned 

In happy expectation. 

Perhaps I'd meet her on the way. 
Or to that pleasant glade I'd stray 

And find her searching there; 
As when the sunbeams gilding fell 
O'er leaf and flower o'er glade and dell 

And made her e'en more fair. 

But no one met me on the road 

And through the path and in the wood 

A whispering silence reigned. 
Still on I trod full hopefully, 
Followed the track, but fearfully 

The little clearing gained. 

Was this the house I'd seen before, 
Was this the sheltering, opening door. 

That now stood strongly locked? 
No curling smoke arose on high. 
And no footsteps approaching nigh 

Responded when I knocked. 



15G My Forest Queen 

And she was gone, my wildwood flower ! 
My love so beauteous, that an hour 

Had stolen my man's heart. 
If I had only asked her name, 
Or who she was or whence she came. 

Before we had to part! 

Then turning back I paced the way 
That coming had seemed all so gay. 

But now was dull as night. 
For when the heart is full of hope 
All Nature sings, when sad we grope 

Through life, though all be bright. 

At last I reached that pleasant glade 
In which I met the little maid 

And helped her in her search. 
And thinking here 'twould be less pain 
To know her gone I sat again. 

Beneath an aged birch. 

Glancing sadly on the ground 

My eye was caught by something round, 

A little, shining thing. 
So this was what we sought that day. 
And now when she was far away 

I found her missing ring. 



My Forest Queen 157 

Oh, bitter irony of fate. 

That tells us when it's all too late. 

The words we should have spoken! 
Or gives to one who prizes not, 
The treasure that another sought. 

Like this small, rounded token. 

But I did prize thee little ring 
And I did love thee precious thing 

Because of thy possessor- 
Something to have that she had worn. 
Something to touch that did adorn 

And clingingly caress her. 

Then holding it up to the light 
I saw within the circlet bright 

Engraved an Irish name. 
Her mother's name, no doubt, Eileen 
And if her mother's, then my queen 

Might too be called the same. 

And ever with that fair young face 
My memory kept a sacred place 

For that sweet, Irish sound. 
Its music filled my lonely heart 
And in my thoughts it took a part 

As each new dav came round. 



158 My Forest Queen 

But days came round and weeks went by, 
And though I searched both low and high 

No trace of her I found. 
She'd vanished from my longing sight 
As darkness flees before the light 

Or dew sinks in the ground. 

But hope dies hard when love's the goal, 
And something whispered to my soul 

That we should meet again . 
So shaking off my restlessness 
I gave my mind to business 

And mingled more with men. 

For work's the best of all the cures, 
For all the woes, which man endures 

That cometh from the heart. 
The busy hand or active brain 
Will often give a balm to pain 

That nought else could impart. 

And so I struggled hard for fame 
And safely built myself a name 

On Fortune's favored road. 
Until at last it almost seemed 
So full my life I must have dreamed 

That forest episode. 



My Forest Queen 159 

But dream or not I had the ring 
And kept it as a cherished thing 

While six full years did run- 
Six years that brought me wealth and power 
And many a pleasant, happy hour; 

But no hour dear as one. 

One that I spent with a fair maid 

'Mid whispering leaves, and forest shade. 

And golden sunlight sheen. 
One that I never can forget 
Whose memory sweet lives with me yet 

Though years have gone between. 

And many another maid I've met 
Who well could wear a coronet. 

Or grace a royal throne. 
Beauties who favored me with smiles 
With gentle arts, and maiden guiles 

And e'en not maids alone. 

For matrons too oft smiled on me 

And thought a pleasant thing 'twould be 

To call me son, perchance. 
Not for myself, but for my gold 
Which in their minds, though left untold 

My worth did much enhance. 



160 My Forest Queen 

One there was a woman true 
Whose hand, and even heart I knew 

I might have won with ease. 
She seemed to like me for myself 
And not for rank, nor sordid pelf. 

But e'en she could not please. 

Sometimes I thought it was to be. 
That she was very dear to me 

And my lost queen dethroned. 
Whose beauty had, from absence, grown 
Until at last through years it shone 

With brightness never owned. 

'Twas thus I reasoned with my heart 
Until cold reason had in part 

Though not quite conquered love; 
But might have save for her dear ring; 
That little golden, shining thing 

Which all my heart did move. 

For when I felt it in my hand 
It seemed to me a golden band 

Between me and Eileen, 
And brought to me all fresh again 
The love that I had first felt, when. 

Her fair young face I'd seen. 



My Forest Queen 161 

So I put the thought aside 
Of ever winning other bride 

Than the owner of the ring. 
And if I ne'er should meet with her 
Still would my heart her memory wear 

As its most precious thing. 

Now that those six years have flown 
I find myself, strange and alone. 

On England's sea-girt strand. 
For I have left my boyhood's home 
And hence in search of health have come 

To roam through many a land. 

First I linger with a friend. 

Whom I have met, where Cornwall's End, 

Stands out to sea so far. 
Then together we depart 
For England's busy, throbbing heart 

Where 'souls, by millions are. 

Where wealth keeps up its revels high. 
While poverty slinks vicious by 

In starving irony. 
Where stone work towers over head 
That towered there when martyrs bled 

From sovereign tyranny. 



162 My Forest Queen 

Buildings whose gloomy massiveness 
Make me feel all my littleness 

As never felt before. 
Thinking of all the countless souls 
Who passed them by for earthly goals 

That know them now no more. 

^len in their day^ much more than I 
And yet forgotten all they lie 

As dust when the wind endeth. 
Perchance a few to memory cling, 
Who by brave deed^ or evil thing, 

A page to history lendeth. 

But London has another side, 

Its cheerful parks, and pleasant Ride, 

Its noted Rotten Row, 
Where beautj'^ loves to sun itself, 
And where poor pride, and low born pelf. 

Together come and go. 

And here it is one pleasant day 
My friend and I both take our way. 

To spend an idle hour. 
And while we watch the shifting scene 
Two riders swiftly pass between. 

And one I've seen before. 



My Forest Queen 163 

At first I do not know her face 
Though on my heart its matchless grace 

Seems graven deep and clear. 
Puzzling over it in vain 
My glance rests on a golden chain, 

And a ring hanging there. 

Then clear_, as leafless branches show 
Against the sunset's golden glow, 

A scene comes back to me. 
A scene within a forest glade 
A sinking sun, a fair young maid 

And an old birchen tree. 

I seem to hear the birds again 
Trill out their joy as they did then. 

For life so glad and free. 
I seem to feel the self same joy; 
But with it mingles this alloy. 

How can I know 'tis she.'' 

So fast she rode, had it not been 
For my old friend, I had not seen 

The swiftly passing pair. 
But he had seen them first and said 
"Here comes the noble Lord Gdntred 

And his grand daughter fair." ( 



164 My Forest Queen 

How could it be_, that stately girl 
The one I knew, and he an earl 

Who rode past by her side? 
It seems impossible and yet 
I have the ring^ and e'en by that 

I'll prove if memory lied. 

I've found the house, a stately place 
And at a window see a face, 

The same and yet 'tis not. 
The eyes and head and shining hair 
All but the mouth, j ust as they were 

In that fair forest spot! 

The lips that then looked shy and sweet. 
Now in proud hauteur firmly meet. 

With a slight touch of scorn. 
As though she found the world unfair 
And discontentedly did wear 

The lot where she was born. 

The pompous servant ushers me 
With most profound solemnity 

Into a stately room. 
Presently I hear a sound, 
A silken rustle on the ground. 

Soft footsteps and she's come. 



My Forest Queen 165 

She stops halfway between the door, 
And bows, and then looks on the floor 

In haughty silence waiting, 
I ask her pardon if I'm wrong 
And tell my mission, and how long 

I've had the little ring. 

The haughty look deserts her lips 
The blue eyes fill, and then she steps 

And takes the ring from me. 
And holding it with trembling hand 
Examines close the little band. 

Her mother's name to see. 

I stand and study her again 
As I did years ago, but then 

She was almost a child. 
And now her costly draperies fall 
Around a woman, queenly tall. 

And all my hopes seem wild. 

What chance have I to win her love? 
So high she seems, so far above 

My new world, self won rank. 
But sad thoughts flee before her smile 
And then we sit and talk awhile 

And she my care would thank. 



166 My Forest Queen 

I, who cannot tell her all 
Just pass it by and ask to call 

Again^ some other day. 
She little knows how loath to part 
I am_, nor how my happy foolish heart 

Beats music on my way. 

What need to tell how oft we meet. 
At home, abroad and on the street. 

Or riding in the row. 
One day she tells me all that passed 
Between this time and that, when last 

We met six years ago. 

How she had lived in that green wood 
With her grandsire in solitude 

Save for a maiden aunt. 
They were her mother's kin, and slie 
Brought up with them from infancy 

No other friends did want. 

Her grandsire was an Irishman 
And hated as the Irish can 

All English noblemen. 
He had two daughters, one so fair 
She won the heart of Gontred's heir. 

Who was in Ireland then. 



My Forest Queen 167 

She was the darling of his hearty, 
His baby girl, who had in part 

Atoned her mother's loss. 
And he was loath to give Eileen 
To Gontred's son whose rank had been 

To him the heaviest cross- 

Eight years of poverty and care 
The young pair lovingly did share 

When Eileen's father died. 
And not long after she was left 
Of all a mother's care bereft 

Who faded from her side. 

The poor old father's bitter grief 
In baby Eileen found relief, 

Who grew up almost wild, 
And after years the Lord Gontred 
Lonely in the life he led 

Sent for the winsome child. 

Perhaps he felt remorse at last 

And thought to make up for the past 

By caring for Eileen. 
The Irishman declared the earl 
Should never have the little girl. 

And left his home unseen. 



168 My Forest Queen 

He wandered here^ and wandered there 
Forever haunted by the fear 

That he should lose the child. 
Until at last they crossed the sea 
And after years were found by me 

In that fair forest wild. 

» 

And, so it seems he thought that I 
Must be some clever English spy 

Who'd found them out at last. 
And taking all his little store 
Wandered from place to place once more 

As he had in the past. 

But soon enfeebled by his years 
He lost in part his brooding fears 

And sought his native land. 
Gontred soon found that they were there 
And anxious still to claim his heir 

Held out a friendly hand. 

Eileen would not leave him then 
Whose love for her had ever been 

The truest and the best. 
And nursed him with the tenderest care 
Until the old man journeyed, where 

All wanderers are at rest. 



My Forest Queen 169 

Disliking her aunt's means to share 
She took the home was offered her 

Mid London's stately halls. 
But used to all a gypsy's life. 
The rooms with costly treasures rife 

To her were prison walls- 

She chafed beneath the formal rule 
Of London life, whose only school 

Had Nature's lessons been. 
And held aloof from revels, where. 
Had she but wished, she was so fair 

She might have reigned as queen. 

All this worried Lord Gontred 
Who wanted his grand child to wed 

Someone of noble name. 
She did not tell all this to me 
But I who watched them both could see 

What went and came. 

I knew the old lord hated me, 
I read it in his eyes when he 

Saw me near Eileen. 
She told him I was an old friend 
And he could scarce his courtesy bend 

His strong dislike to screen. 



170 My Forest Queen 

One day, when she was out, he said, 
That his grand child was soon to wed 

A man of her own choice. 
And in insulting manner, did 
My visits to the house forbid. 

When we both heard a voice. 

'Twas Eileen who had just returned 
And seeing me so rudely spurned 

She stood between the two. 
With flashing eye and quiet tone 
And haughty air that matched his own 

She said it was not true. 

He, enraged at being foiled. 
Over with fuming passion boiled 

And bade her choose between 
Me and him, with all his land. 
One look she gave, I clasped her hand 

She'd chosen me, My Queen. 




r>< 



Your Father^s a Brave 



THE CHILDREN'S BOOK 



The Children's Book 173 



THE HOLE IN THE FENCE. 

JUST a picket or two. 
Left off for our use. 
There was scarcely a day 

That we did not go through. 
Our friendship was very intense; 

Got acquainted that way — 
Through the hole in the fence. 

She always wore plaid. 
With a yoke and full skirt, 

(I remember just how we dressed) 
My style wasn't bad; 

Gabrielle with a frill 
But some way or other 

As children all will 
I used to like hers the best. 

We aped "Lady ways" — 
Wore rhubarb sunshades 

And burdock leaf fans. 
(They were good enough those days) 

Called on each other 
With much of pretense 

And a great deal of state, 
Through the hole in the fence. 

Now we go around by the gate 



174 The Children's Book 

Leave our cards, have a "day," 

Go to parties full dress 
And come home very late. 

Have arrived, as they say. 
At years of good sense, 

But life isn't half that it vras 
When we played 

Through the hole in the fence. 

1890. 



The Children's Book 175 



GRIMM AND GRUFF. 

GRIMM and Gruff 
Were good dogs enough. 
But horribly given to fighting. 

Grimm came out flat 
For chasing the cat 

And Gruff had a habit of biting. 

# No matter what spat 

They were busy at^ 
No matter what bone discussing, 

Let a cat show her nose 
Or tread on their toes, 

And whew! they were off and fussing. 

Now one Pussy Mew, 

Who was fond of the two. 
And strange it is what I'm recounting; 

Took liberties great 
Were it early or late. 

Almost to danger amounting. 

She'd sleep on the rug 

With each little pug. 
No matter what the weather. 

And eat from one dish 
As sweet as you'd wish; 

So happy all together. 



176 The Children's Book 

Now one day they saw 

Under pussie's front paw 
A bundle of soft grey fur. 

And more that seemed 
Unless they dreamed 

A family had come to her. 

Now what more fitting 

Such friends unremitting 
Should call with congratulation. 

So each little pug 
With a happy "mug" 

Started off with great elation. 

Now it was one thing for kit, 
When she saw fit 
To have lived with each dog as a brother; 

But a different tale 
Which turned her pale 

When she'd become a mother. 

Her back rose up 

Like a reversed cup 
Her eyes blazed balls of fire. 

Her temper rose, and rose, and rose 
And rose, and rose 

Up higher. 



The Children's Book 177 

She bit poor Grimm 

Till he cried for him 
Enough, enough, enough! 

And clawed and scratched 

Till almost despatched, 

That poor old doggie. Gruff. 

The two slunk off 

With a bark and a cough. 

Never to call any more. 

With such manners, they said 
She had better be dead 

And her temper they did deplore. 




rrc^ 




178 The Children's Book 



THE STRAIGHT LINE. 

^TT'EEP to the straight line/' 
X V My mother used to say. 
When I was but a small child 
And used to write that way. 

"Keep to the straight line," 

I tried with honest might 
But the letters would go crooked 

And the words not go quite right. 

It's not as easy as it seems 

Nor as simple as it looks 
When walking down the paths of life 

Or filling copy-books. 

But 'tis well to have a straight line 
And keep it well in sight, 

Though the lines may still go crooked 
And the words not look quite right. 



The Children's Book 179 



FOLLOW CAT. 

SHE used to play so nice with me 
When we were all alone, 
And let me be 
The mother 
And things I liked the best. 

Like pour the tea. 
And all the rest. 

And she'd be baby 
And cry nice 

And let me pet her so ; 
But in a trice 

Before you'd know 
When Susie Jones came in 

She'd sniff her nose 
And point her chin 

And look just like a bear 
And act like that 
And say to me 
"Go home, go home. 

You 'Follow Cat.' " 
Then Susie Jones 

Would stick her tongue out 
Most a mile 

And they would whisper so 
And smile. 

And when I'd try to follow them 



180 The Children's Book 

And wonder why 

They'd act like that, 
They'd both call out 

"I wouldn't be a 'Follow Cat.' " 
Then I would run into the house 

And cry, and cry, and cry. 
And wish that I was awful sick 

So that I most could die. 

And make them sad 

And sorry too. 
Of course she was much more growed up 

Than me. 
And it was awful good of her 

To let me have the bestest cup 
And let me pour the tea. 

So when she would 
Come in at night 

And say, "Why, Sis, 
What makes you cry? 

You look just like 
A great big fright," 

And give me such a kiss. 
And be as sweet as pie. 

Why I'd just blame 
That Susie Jones 

For it always happened that 
When she came in, they'd run off so 

And call me "Follow Cat." 



The Children's Book 181 



THE BOLD RAT. 

A BAD cat 
Met a rat 

In a downtown flat. 
"Scat!" said the cat. 

"Drat !" said the rat 

"I will not do that." 
"Spit! Spat!" 

Said the cat. 

"My hat!" 

Said the rat, 
And hit her a bat. 

Then they fought and fought. 

Till the day was done. 

And nothing was left 

Of either one. 



182 The Children's Book 

SHINNY. 

A GAME we played when we were boys, 
With all its bluster and its noise. 
As men, a game we have outgrown 
And yet, methinks, it could be shown 
There are some we play at even yet 
If to its pattern closely set 
In many points would coincide; 
But now, as then, we oft forget 
To "Shinny on your own side." 

We cannot call it out so bold. 

The rules are different that hold 

The order of the game man plays ; 

And fairness judged from youthful ways 

Has lost its old control. 

Riches the ball and self the goal. 

We follow after far and wide 

Regardless now where'er it roll. 

To "Shinny on your own side." 

There's much we cast off with our youth 
'Twould better be if kept forsooth. 
As boyish games on larger plan 
Are but the pastime of the man. 
'Tis different now at "Shinny" when 
With boys we play who've grown to men; 
By boyhood's rules no longer tied, 
'Tis harder now than it was then 
To "Shinny on your own side." 



The Children's Book 183 



THE CASH GIRL. 

ALL day long, 
On their little feet. 
Trot, trot, trot. 

Some untidy, some of them neat. 
Hot, hot, hot. 

While outside the broiling street 
Blisters the air 

Where they chance to meet, 
To catch a breath. 

Ere the strident call — 
"Cash, cash, cash," 

Shall summon all. 
They seem too young 

For the task imposed. 
They are too tired 

Ere the shop is closed. 
They grow too old 

While they still are young. 
They grow too bold 

With a saucy tongue. 
Who was so foolish 

To place them here.f* 
Surely to someone 

They must have been dear; 



184 The Children's Book 

Ah ! The grind for bread 

Is a hard^ hard grind_, 
They have to be fed 

And their food they must find, 
So all day long on their little feet 

Trot, trot, trot; 
Some untidy, some of them neat. 

They scamper and push 
And struggle and call 

As they answer the summons 
That hurries all. 

So all day long on their little feet 
The cash girls scamper 

And push and run. 
No time for mischief 

Or play or fun. 
Just to be glad 

When the day is done. 



The Children's Book 185 



WHIP BEHIND. 

I HEAR them calling on the street. 
Their voices carried by the wind, 
Small boys who grudge another's treat, 
"Whip behind!" "Whip behind!" 

And with the words and with the wind, 
A thought doth into being start. 

How down the path of life we find 
Boys older grown to play their part. 

How eager ever man to call 
When unto others luck's inclined, 

(Jealous of good that may befall) 
"Whip behind!" "Whip behind!" 

Ah! easier far our way might be 
If all those tongues we could but bind. 

Which for themselves call fruitlessly, 
"Whip behind!" "Whip behind!" 



186 The Children's Book 



DON'T TOUCH. 

THERE are so many things about 
I like so very, very much. 
And yet my mother says to me, 
"Don't touch, don't touch." 

I wonder why they leave them here 
To tease me so, when they are such 

Delightful things, then say to me, 
"Don't touch, don't touch." 

But father says it's just the same 

Though he is grown up ever so much. 

That there are many things he likes 
He mustn't dare to even touch. 

It's my big mother says to me 
That I'm not to handle such. 

But he says it's a "wee small voice" 
That says to him he mustn't touch. 

So I suppose it's best for us 

Not to handle and have no choice; 

But isn't it queer when he's so big 
That he should hear so small a voice ? 



The Children's Book 187 

It seems to me that things are turned 

All upside down since I came here. 
And if I only knew the way 

I'd go right back, this very year. 

I'm sure up there they'd never have 

A lot of stuff we'd like so much, 
All lying round, and then cry out — 

"Don't touch, don't touch." 



188 The Children's Book 



POOR LITTLE THING. 

YOU look like a mouse that is caught in a trap 
Or a bird that is clipped in the wing 
And I wonder just how when you're taking a nap 
You manage, you poor little thing. 

Can your toes rub together as baby toes will.^ 

Can you not give them a fling .^^ 
Must you forever be resting so still 

And cramped, you poor little thing .^ 

Your body is plump and your cheeks are as fat 

As a prairie bird shot on the wing. 
And I'm sure I'd no reason to christen you that 

And caU you "A poor little thing." 

Your moss bag is br older ed with beads that are bright. 

The Lake of the Woods had no tree 
Too grand in its beauty, too great in its height 

To be felled and shapen for thee. 

Your father's a brave, your mother for yon 

Croons sweet an Indian song. 
As she binds the ribs of her staunch canoe 

Or paddles it swift along. 



The Children's Book 189 

And after a while when you're leased from your bands 

Your back shall be supple and straight. 
Strong shall your arms be and your hands, 

Powerful your muscle and great. 

Free as a bird, where you will you may go. 

Your dominions are fit for a king. 
And I'm sure I'd no reason to christen you so. 

And call you "A poor little thing." 



190 



The Children's Book 



CHICKS. 

THE chickens strut about the yard 
"Cock A Doodle Doo." 
They pick the crumbs up fast and hard, 

And so indeed would you, 
If you were just a nice fat hen 
With nothing else to do. 




The Children's Book 191 




COMMON THINGS. 

SOME must be beggars. 
And some must be kings. 
But only the looker, it is, who sees 

The beauty that lies in common things. 

Have you noticed the form of the common weed, 

That grows in the wayside dirt.^ 
Have you seen the sparrow, that dullest bird, 

Twitter, and preen, and flirt? 

Have you lain with your face on a summer day 

Turned down to the meadow grass. 
To watch the tribes of that underworld 

As they struggle and seethe, and pass? 

Have you studied the haunts of the busy ant 

As it fetches and carries and saves ? 
The Egyptians building the pyramids 

Were not more active slaves. 

I have seen a chipmunk, with babies two. 

Exploring an old stone fence- 
With what motherly patience she urged them along. 

On one and another pretence! 



192 The Children's Book 

When they came to a crevice, so big to them. 

And shrank from its edges rude, 
How she chattered, and gabbled, and coaxed them on, 

With a mother's solicitude! 

I have seen two parents, mud-turtles, they were 
With their brood, on a log in the sun. 

And when they saw me in a language unknown. 
They called "Duck." And they did, every one. 

I was not flattered as you may think, 

To know I frightened them so; 
But 'tis wonderful how much common sense 

A common mud-turtle can show. 

It would have been nice for some little boy 
To have kept them at home in a pail; 

But they preferred the beautiful lake 
And so every one turned tail. 

I have not told half the things I have seen 

In this underworld looking glass ; 
But 'tis well to have eyes in the back of your head 

For these common things that you pass. 



The Children's Book 193 



A PICTURE. 

WHAT is this on the window pane? 
A bunny rabbit as plain as plain! 
It seems to be nibbling the pretty grass 
That grows so tail on the window glass. 
The artist who painted it seems to be lost, 
But I have my suspicions 'twas old Jack Frost. 



194 The Children's Book 



BILLY. 

LITTLE Billy went to school- 
Didn't follow any rule. 
Got there just as he would strike it, 
Sometimes would walk it, sometimes bike it; 
But his teachers didn't like it: 
Set the girls to tittering, giggling 
And the boys to snickering, wriggling. 
That was why they called him silly. 
Just because his name was Billy 
And because when he would come 
He would sit and suck his thumb. 
Sit there winking, blinking, blinking, 
They didn't know that he was thinking. 
Now they all have grown up big. 
Billy wears a gown and wig. 
Doesn't follow any rule 
Any more than when at school. 
Blinks no more than others do. 
Had his eyes attended to. 
'Twas with his eyes he did the blinking 
But 'twas with brain he did the thinking. 



The Children's Book 195 



THREE GIFTS. 

THREE piggies sought their fortunes' 
A nursery tale retold in verse. 
It might be told better 
And might be told worse. 

Mother Nature spoke up 

To three sons one day 
As they started forth 

On life's bleak highway. 
I have three gifts. 

Which one most endures? 
Just make your choice 

And the gift is yours. 
The eldest called out 

In a voice so bold 
And said "Dear Mother, 

I'll take the gold." 
So on with his heavy 

Pack he rolled. 
It kept him down 

To the dusty row, 
It blinded his eyes 

With its glittering glow. 
It kept him from knowing 

His friend from his foe. 



196 The Children's Book 

The second spoke up 

When his mother came 
With her gifts^ and said 

"Just give me fame." 
And he rose like a bird 

And travelled far 
To the lands of delight 

Where the famous are. 
Then she came to the last 

Her baby boy, 
Her pride and delight. 

Her greatest joy. 
"My son," she said, 

"I have nought for you 
But this bundle of words. 

With no choice you drew 
The gift of all gifts. 

If you use them, true." 
The weight was light 

As he stepped away; 
But he sang a tune 

As he went that day. 
He whistled and trilled 

A roundelay. 
He picked his words 

From his bundle light. 
And joined them together 

From day to night. 



The Children's Book 197 

He wove them in patterns 

Of quaintest design. 
And strung them in couplets 

Line on line. 
He chose them with care. 

And puzzled them out, 
Twisted them in 

And turned them about 
And though they were light 

When he started along 
They soon grew quite rich. 

With the weight of his song. 
He shook them together 

Like dice in his brain 
To see what new wonders 

Might greet him again, 
And though he could never 

Their value have told. 
They brought him both glory 

And plenty of gold. 
And the words that he dropped 

As he trod on his way 
Leave a trail of delight 

For all travellers to-day ; 
And a shining chain links us 

Like stringlet of pearls. 
Though he long has been travelling 
More glorious worlds. 



198 The Children's Book 



THE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS. 

J rry was the night after Christmas 
Jl And all through the house 
Not a creature was stirring. 

Not even a mouse. 
Mamma in her kerchief. 

Papa in his cap 
Were settling themselves 

For a Night-Mary nap. 
The children all tired out, 

Were tucked up in bed 
With a pain in the tummy 

And one in the head. 
Old Nick with delight, 

And I don't mean the saint. 
Was entering more names 

In his book of complaint. 
For intemperance he said 

Is not just what we drink. 
But the food that we eat 

And the things that we think. 
And Christmas was never intended to be. 

Just a jolly, old, rollicking sort of a spree. 



The Children's Book 199 



THREE YEARS OLD 

SWEET as sugar, 
Merry as fun, 
Bright as a cricket 

This little one. 
Playing with scissors 

Needle or knife. 
Burning his fingers. 

Risking his life. 
Telling a story. 

Singing a song. 
From this to that thing 

The whole day long. 
But we wouldn't change him 

For angel or gold. 
This dear little mischief. 

Just three years old. 



200 The Children's Book 



THE EXTRA HANDED CRAB 
AND OTHER STRANGE THINGS 

DEAR me! What would we do 
If the houses took to grinning? 
I'd be sure to lose my head 
And up a tree go "skinning." 

To meet the household broom 

As I went out to walk. 
In the middle of the room. 

Gave me such a shock. 

It stood there quite alone. 

Like our grandma's silken dress, 

I nearly turned to stone, 
A little more, or less. 

And then there's what they call 
The wrong side of the bed. 

I'd push it to the wall 

And have just one instead. 

It is a dreadful loss 

When we get up that way. 
It makes us tired and cross 

All through that dreadful day. 



The Children's Book 201 

It is an awful age 

When things inanimate 
Can walk, and grin, and rage, 

At such a dreadful rate. 

Once upon the rug 

Oh my! I felt so queer! 
I saw a horrid bug 

That grinned, from ear to ear. 

I knew an apple tree. 

That blossomed in the fall. 
If I, so slow, should be 

I would not grow at all. 

The very worst I know 

Was a crab with extra hands- 
One day I thought I'd go 

Out strolling on the sands. 

I took it for thin air 

Out walking on two legs. 
I thought it wouldn't care 

So knocked it off its "pegs." 

Its eyes stuck out with fright 

A quarter of an inch. 
But it pushed them in quite tight 

With two tiny hands. "A cinch." 



202 The Children's Book 

They were a special pair 
Crossed beneath its chin, 

For using when it had a scare 
To push its eyeballs in. 

I'd heard of eyes that stuck 

Right, straight, out of one's head. 

So wasn't it the greatest luck 
To meet that crab, we said. 

I saw a heap of snow 

They showed to each new comer, 
It didn't know enough to go 

Although 'twas then mid-summer. 

I suppose the next we'll hear 
Is that animals can talk, 

But if they do I fear 

Right off this earth I'll walk. 



The Children's Book 203 



PUSSY'S FATE. 

I HEARD a mouse at midnight stealing 
Down the oaken stair 
I heard a kit itself concealing 

To catch a treat so rare. 
Then pitter patter, pitter patter, 

Down the oaken stair 
Frisky frisking, whisky whisking, 

Went that cautious pair. 
I heard no more, I heard no more, 

So dropped me off to sleep. 
Next morn when I descended 

For poor mousie took a peep. 
And there in the corner sittin' 

Was the mouse to a huge rat grown, 
While nought was left of poor kitten 

But an eye tooth and wish bone. 
So now my little readers, 

A moral I'd relate 
When you would like to play the cat, 

Just mews on Pussy's fate. 



204 The Children's Book 



THE COUNTRY OF LOOK-INTO-THINGS 

THERE'S a land that I know, 
And it's not very far, 
Where there's much to be seen 

But where travellers are 
Inclined to go through 

With their eyes shut. 
There is much to be seen 

And there's more to be thought, 
We will just take a journey 

Our tickets are bought, 
Through the country 

Of Look-into-things- 
Here's a blot on my paper 

That fell from my pen, 
I wonder just what 

I was writing at then? 
Perhaps 'twas a sketch of the war, 

For the blot is a soldier 
As plain as can be 

With only one arm, 
And, oh dear me ! 

How terribly sad he is looking. 
His thoughts on his troubles 

Seem all to be set. 



The Children's Book 205 

Perhaps on a pension 

He never may get 
For serving so well in the war. 

And here is a milk jug 
Of quaintest design 

With a bas-relief pattern 
So daintily fine 

You are sure to ask if its Wedgewood? 
'Twas formed from a milk drop 

That fell from a glass 
And isn't it wondrous 

Congealed it should pass 
To the shape of a beautiful pitcher? 

A piece of old paper 
That somebody tore 

I see in its edge 
As it lies on the floor 

The face of a Psyche 
Or Mile. 

Now I'm sorry to leave you, 
But have to go home, 

Though I'm sure by yourselves 
You often will roam 

Through the country 
Of Look-into-things. 



206 The Children's Book 



A LITTLE FLY. 

A LITTLE fly on a window pane. 
That was buzzing away 
With might and main^, 

Stopped all at once and sadly said, 
*' 'Twill soon be winter. 

And I'll be dead. 
So what's the use of buzzing like this 

My work, I'm sure. 
No one will miss." 

Then off to a quiet spot she went 
To idly rest 

Till her life was spent- 
But a spider who watched her 

As she slept 
Closer and closer 

Softly crept. 
Till a dainty cage of silken net 

All around her 
Was safely set. 

And long ere winter 
That poor little fly 

Found out alas, 
What it meant to die. 



The Children's Book 207 

Now you see^ if the fly 
At her work had kept 

The spider could never 
So near have crept. 

So if all you can do is just to buzz 
Why, buzz and buzz and buzz and buzz. 



208 The Children's Book 



NELL AND LOU 

J r 1 1 WAS the work of two small maidens, 
A Pretty Nell and dainty Lou, 

To pick all the ripened currants 
That on Grandma's bushes grew. 

For several years they had done it 

And had always done it well, 
So with interest one fine day^ 

They heard their Grandpa tell 

How the worms on the currant bushes 

Were just beginning to show 
And he must have them "hellebored," 

So that the fruit might grow. 

Said Nell, "Oh, please dear Grandpa, 
Let them eat the leaves all up 

And then 'twill be so easy 
To fill the big tin cup.*' 

But Grandpa only muttered, 

As old folks often will, 
"Tut, tut, my little maidens," 

And so the two kept still. 



The Children's Book 209 

That evening in the garden 

Two little maidens strolled. 
And put two heads together, 

Which makes just one, I'm told. 

Said Lou, "They are so horrid," 

Said Nell, "They wriggle so. 
And even when they're hellebored 

They don't all die, you know." 

Why here's a bush they've eaten at 

And nibbled up the worst. 
And I'm sure they are the currants 

That are ripening the first." 

A few days after grandpa 

Came in in such a state 
To say the worms had beaten 

And the sprinkling was too late. 

"There's scarce, if you'd believe it," 
To Grandma, "A leaf upon a tree." 

Then two small two-legged worms 

Felt just as mean as mean could be. 

Said Nellie to her mutton sleeve, 

"I wish we didn't do it." 
Thumped Louie's heart into her ear, 

"I told you you would rue it." 



210 The Children's Book 

Then with a pretty lisp, 

A stammer and a cough, 
"Oh, pleathe, dear grandmama," she said, 

" 'Twuth uth who picked them off." 

And grandma crossly grumbled 

"You naughty little Lou, 
They'll be as sour as vinegar, 

And take more sugar too." 

"Yeth, but grandma dear. 

They won't take tho much more, 

And what you lothe on sugar. 
You'll thave on hellebore." 

Then grandma only muttered, 

As old folks often will, 
"Tut, tut, my little maidens," 

And so the two kept still. 



The Children's Book 211 



LITTLE GIRLS. 

LITTLE girls who like to climb 
Should chose most likely places. 
For if they don't they're apt to fall 
And scratch their little faces. 



212 The Children's Book 



A LITTLE MAN. 

To R- 

THERE is a little man called Rolf 
When he grows up big 
He'll go outdoors 
And play at golf. 

Like to play at football, too, 

And let his hair grow long, 
Mother '11 let him do all those things 

If he won't do things that are wrong. 

Like to go into the back yard 

Throw the stones at cats. 
Throw sticks at the little boys 

And knock off all their hats. 

Like to go into the forest, 

Climbing up the trees. 
Wearing off his stockings 

Scratching off his knees. 

Like to go into the water. 

Try to learn to swim, 
Mother'll let him do all those things 

Though she'll be afraid for him. 



The Children's Book 21S 

A LITTLE LADY. 

ToE. 

IT isn't that she's dressed so neat 
Or always looks so fresh and sweet: 
It isn't that she's round and fair. 
With such blue eyes and pretty hair. 
All of these things of course I see. 
It's her manner that appeals to me- 

She never sits when grown ups stand, 
And always offers the proper hand. 
She tries to think, not to slam the door. 
Nor to leave her playthings on the floor 
And though these things all right may be 
It's her manner that appeals to me. 

It isn't that she'd never stare, 
Nor rudely say she "Didn't care" 
Nor take the biggest piece of cake, 
Nor sit too late up, wide awake 
Nor speak too loud, nor cry, nor call. 
It's her manner that's the best of all. 

So modest, gentle, childish, sweet! 
You'd almost think you'd like to eat 
Her right up, like a great big bear; 
But that of course would not be fair. 
It's the manner that appeals to me 
Of this little chubby, sweet, ladye. 



DEC lie 198(9 



r>*<V. 



